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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308123">A Place To Call Home</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbell23/pseuds/Winterbell23'>Winterbell23</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Walking In The Starlight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda, Historical RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton Has ADHD, Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anxiety, Bisexual Alexander Hamilton, Bullying, Child Abandonment, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Depression, Eventual Relationships, Explicit Language, F/M, Gay John Laurens, Gen, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Injury Recovery, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mental Health Issues, Multilingual Character, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Sexual Assault, Physical Disability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, Trust Issues, Washingdad, Washingmom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 14:01:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>30,940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23308123</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterbell23/pseuds/Winterbell23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander has no one. </p><p>No mother, no friends, not even a real home. </p><p>What he does have are a few precious battered keepsakes saved from the ruins of the hurricane that ravaged his island and nearly crippled him, a brilliant mind, and a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas. Any family that the fourteen-year-old has living on the island either doesn't want him or can't afford to take care of him, leaving him in and out of foster care since his cousin and uncle died, and after living in six different households since losing his mother, he doesn't have much hope of things ever getting better. </p><p>When Alex is told he's being removed from the St. Raphael's Healing House after a prolonged stay to recover from his injuries sustained in the storm, and a month before Christmas no less, he's not surprised. Even still... a small part of him can't help but ache for a miracle.</p><p>He just never expected that miracle would come in the form of his newly-located biological father. George Washington; married family man, farmer, honorably discharged General of the United States Army... oh yeah, and up until a few days ago he'd had no idea that Alexander even existed.</p><p>The universe always did love fucking with him.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alexander Hamilton &amp; George Washington, Alexander Hamilton &amp; Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton &amp; Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton &amp; John Laurens &amp; Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette &amp; Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton &amp; Martha Washington, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens, George Washington/Martha Washington, Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette &amp; Hercules Mulligan, Rachel Faucette Buck/George Washington</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Walking In The Starlight [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1742029</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>242</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Christiansted, Saint Croix, U.S. Virgin Islands<br/>November, 2017</em>
</p><p>The alarm woke him up seemingly only an hour or two after he finally managed to fall asleep. </p><p>Alex Hamilton opened his eyes and groaned tiredly, blinking as he rolled over in his bed with a wince to look at the clock on the desk across the room from his bed. </p><p>5:00?</p><p>As in, <em>in the morning? </em></p><p>Ugh.</p><p>He was about to throw a pillow at it, half-hoping the impact would knock it off the desk and break it so he could close his eyes for another thirty minutes or so until one of the caretakers came to wake him, when he caught a glimpse of the calendar hanging above his desk; Monday, November 20th. It was circled in a bright green marker with an exclamation point next to it. </p><p>Wait, today was <em>the</em> Monday, wasn't it?</p><p>The realization hit him so suddenly that the teenager jerked up into a sitting position and instantly regretted it when pain lanced up through his body, and he clutched his upper left side where the now healed area of the Thoracostomy tube once was; he'd needed the air removed from between his lungs and chest wall after the storm and the building and... </p><p>No, <em>no</em>.</p><p>He wasn't going to think about that, not right now. Today was the day he left this place behind, hopefully for good, and nothing was going to bring him down right now; scared as he was, he was also incredibly excited - this was his chance at a new start, because he was going somewhere where nobody knew him or his story, and that had no negative memories to tie to it - he was going to do his best not to let anything ruin it. </p><p>Alexander had so much more important things to worry about.</p><p>Closing his eyes for a moment as he brushed his fingers through his hair, the teenager couldn't help but remember that day two weeks ago when his social worker, Jess Summers, had told him he was leaving St. Raphael's.</p><p>He had been expecting the worst, but then she'd given him the most shocking news of his life. </p><hr/><p>
  <em>"They're kicking me out, aren't they?" </em>
</p><p>
  <em>All of the fears he'd been harboring for weeks and months as his progress grew more evident were realized the moment he saw Jess standing in his doorway with that warm smile, the one he'd hated so much in the beginning because it just felt too much like pity, but she had grown on him after a while. Dread filled him. He knew the housing crisis on the island was still major so he highly doubted it had to do with her finding a family for him. They didn't have an appointment planned. So there was only reason why she would be here without any notice. His chest tightened with anxiety.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It took everything in him to sound indifferent about it, but the truth was, he was terrified. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, he knew that with his medication and his physical therapy that it was getting easier for him to become independent again, and that eventually he would no longer qualify to remain at S.R.H.H. (Saint Raphael's Healing House) but that had been largely because of the support of the incredible nurses and headmistresses of St. Raphael's; the reason he had been there in the first place was because a group home wouldn't have been suitable for someone like him, and regular foster families weren't always equipped to deal with disabled kids. Him qualifying for admittance there had been the first lucky break he'd ever caught in his life. For most kids here, recovery was a good sign, it meant they could leave soon, but for Alex it meant worrying about where he would end up next.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>God, he did <strong>not</strong> want to end up in another shitty foster home that only cared about how much money they could get from the government (and sympathy/praise from their friends) for being oh-so generous as to take in the poor damaged orphan, but he was deeply worried about how well someone like him would fare in a group home.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>But sooner or later someone more in need was going to come along, and he would heal, and eventually they would no longer consider him a critical patient there. He just didn't think it would come so quickly.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alexander was only fourteen years old, where would he go? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>He couldn't work! They wouldn't let him, he'd tried and nearly gotten Mr. Cruger in a ton of trouble for giving him the opportunity (he really didn't think hiring him had been 'exploitative', but apparently the authorities thought otherwise and frowned upon a twelve year old working in a warehouse). He knew his statistics, knew how disproportionate the ratio of foster families versus foster kids were. Already, he could feel the suffocating fear growing tighter in his chest, clawing to get out. He was going to end up on the streets again, wasn't he? He was going to be homeless; how would he defend himself? Some days he was fine to run around like a normal person, and other days he could barely walk without the use of his cane and braces, the agony in his lower limbs was so bad. That would already make it difficult to defend himself from thieves, kidnappers, murderers, junkies and rapists. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>How was he going to get his medication? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The boy was pretty sure none of it was covered; the orphanage stayed open through charitable work and they were the ones paying for his meds. He wouldn't be able to function without them. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Before he knew it, he was on the verge of a panic attack. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Suddenly, big jade green eyes were in his direct line of sight as Jess got down on her knees in front of his bed, her hands were gentle and grounding on his shoulders. "Alexander, look at me. It's okay, you're going to be okay. Take a deep breath. They're not kicking you out, sweetheart." she told him, and he sucked in a sharp, shuddering gasp of air. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"They're... not?" She brushed the tears away from his eyes, which he hadn't even realized were there. "T-Then... then why are you...?"</em>
</p><p>
  <em>She handed him a tall Starbucks London Fog tea latte from the Food Town supermarket in Christiansted that she'd brought him and he clutched the hot drink, feeling the pleasant heat spread through his fingers and warm him. "Honey, they finally managed to recover a digital copy of your birth certificate. Your complete birth certificate." she told him, her fingers brushing through his hair. Normally he hated anyone touching his hair; but Jess somehow managed to make it feel comforting rather than condescending.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alexander stared at her. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>His lack of reaction must have spurred her to give more details, knowing he needed additional information, "You remember, don't you? When we met I told you that sometimes these things can be difficult to find, because of your circumstances?" Ah, yes.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Sometimes it was easy to forget, in the relatively safe and comfortable walls of St. Raphael's, that Alexander had grown up straddling the poverty line with his Ma and brother. They weren't, like, homeless or completely destitute, but they did struggle. His mother had lost her job shortly before he was born, and she'd ended up giving birth at a small maternity clinic in Charlestown on Nevis, for women from low-income households who were facing tough times; that clinic was unfortunately gone by the time she had died, and their records of children born there prior to 2008 had proven nearly impossible to recover, as had tracking down anyone who'd worked there since the building had been converted into a museum. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This wouldn't have been a terrible issue for most people, but Alexander had never asked to see his birth certificate when he was young, and whenever he'd asked about his father (his real one), she'd looked so sad that he couldn't bare to push her. So he didn't even know the man's name. Again, not something he really focused on all that much. He'd had a dad after all, James Hamilton was all he'd known for most of his life, and he'd even been named for the man’s own father back in Scotland. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>But then James had left, and Ma had died and Jamie hadn't known who Alexander's father was either because he hadn’t been old enough to remember ever seeing him.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As the pool of people they were related to who were able to take care of them got smaller and smaller, the young boy had found himself wishing more than ever that he'd been more persistent in asking for details about him, or about why he wasn't around. After all, the least he could do was acknowledge Alexander, right? </em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, scratch that. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The least he could have done was have the decency to show up to his mother's funeral. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"So... you're saying you found out my birth dad's name?" he asked, slowly, his expression carefully blank.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jess took his hand and squeezed it, gently, "More than that, kiddo. We found him. I just got back to the island today from seeing him, Alex. We told him what happened, and... he wants to meet you. He'd like you to come live with him, if you're willing to give him a chance." </em>
</p><p>
  <em>"What?" he gasped in disbelief. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>She just smiled, her catlike green eyes soft and patient, waiting for him to absorb the news. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Alex felt something hysterical bubbling up in his throat; but he couldn't tell whether it was a laugh or a sob that was trying to escape. How many years had he been praying for a miracle? How many nights had he spent since the hurricane, miserable and alone, hoping beyond hope that one of those fairy tale happy endings would find its way to him? You saw those newspaper articles and clickbait stories all the time, 'Man Meets Orphaned Teenage Child He Never Knew About', and there's tears and hugs all around and the healing began and the kid gets to have their dream come true. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>What they don't tell you, he thought to himself grimly, is that sometimes after the camera stops rolling the kid is left with a life time of insecurity and abandonment issues to deal with, and maybe he or she can't bring themselves to immediately leap into the arms of this stranger they've just been told to entrust their very heart with after being alone for so long. But it had to be better than ending up dealing with those issues unwanted and alone, right?</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Cynicism aside, the boy had admittedly wondered how he would react if his biological father, or his stepfather or even one of his half brothers had come for him, full of apologies and promises not to leave again and telling him how terrible they felt for what he'd been through. He wondered about it, but he'd never expected it to actually happen; because his brother was happy to be free of the responsibility of a younger brother and his stepfather hadn't seen him in years and he never even got to meet his real dad, so he knew well enough that no one was going to come looking for him. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Yes, Alex had thought about those stories often, but he never expected he would get an opportunity like that of his own, a fresh start where he could walk down the hallway and not have to know everybody knew everything about him and his pathetic life. Kids like him didn't get that chance... or so he'd believed.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Now he had one being presented to him so unexpectedly, and for the first time in his life... he didn't know what to do.</em>
</p><hr/><p>Still, if he had been completely knocked breathless by learning that not only had she found his father, but actually met him? </p><p>He almost thought she was screwing with him at first, it would have sounded like a cruel fantasy to him, had it been relayed by anyone less sincere. Could you <em>blame</em> him for being skeptical?</p><p>A sad, broken little orphan boy facing the prospect of spending another Christmas alone, suddenly getting whisked away by his mysterious father to live with him and his family?</p><p>That shit just <em>didn’t happen</em> in real life; and if it did it certainly didn’t happen to insignificant people like Alexander. He spent a solid two days in a state of numb disbelief before finally requesting the details.</p><p>Nothing could have prepared him for finding out who this man, whom he'd only ever heard the vaguest of details about, was. This guy who had swept into his mother's life and apparently charmed her into his arms (and his bed), healing her already bruised heart from a hideously unhappy annulled marriage to Johann and, later, a rough on again/off again but not quite as toxic relationship with James. </p><p><em>"He was very tall, and handsome. A bit withdrawn perhaps, he wasn't very forthcoming about how he felt, Alex, but he was gentle... and kind... brave, too. There was something almost charming in his awkwardness; he made me feel safe. He didn't judge me for my circumstances. We met when he was on vacation with his sick brother after taking leave from the Army."</em> His mother had told him once, when he was six years old and James Sr. had been away on another one of his business ventures that never seemed to go anywhere, no matter how hard he tried.<em> "You have my eyes, but you have his hair."</em>  She combed her fingers through his wavy and untamed auburn strands, and he'd fallen asleep curled against her side, watching the sunset. </p><p>It was a nice memory, but <em>'your dad is a redhead and a soldier'</em>  wasn't a lot to go on when you were trying to find details about the guy who'd fathered you; it meant pretty much nothing considering Alexander had realized at some point her mother must have had <em>a thing</em> for men with red hair.</p><p>Johann Lavien, that snake, had been a well-dressed and good-looking asshole of Danish descent (Alexander may have creeped his Facebook profile for information on his half brother when he was twelve, okay?), and his stepfather James was a stereotypical Scottish man, which was one of the reasons so many people thought he was his real father in addition to Jamie's; the reddish brown hair. In all honesty, a part of Alexander had believed the man was dead; with his luck how could he not be? Either that or he'd turn out to be a total freak, whacked out on drugs or PTSD or something.</p><p>But at this point in his life, anywhere was better than the prospect of being homeless a month before Christmastime. </p><p>Sure, they lived in the Virgin Islands, so it wasn’t like it was <em>cold</em> out. Even in the middle of the night in December it was mild at best; but it still rained <em>a lot</em>, and the strain that St. Croix had been facing since the hurricane two years ago was still present in every day life. Surviving on his own would not be fun. He’d done it before, for a time after running away from his worst foster home, but that had been with two functioning legs for quick getaways and an adorable face that elicited sympathy from people on good days. At fourteen and with a handicap he would have a more difficult time staying safe.</p><p>Jess had handed him a folder and told him to give it a read and ask any question he liked.</p><p>That was one of the things he'd always loved about her; she knew how uncomfortable those damn files - which contained some of the most horrible details of his life - being read by total strangers, made him feel, he'd said as much to her face the first time they met. The <em>second</em> time they'd met had been to tell him about the Woods', a prospective foster couple looking into taking him and his brother into their home. To his surprise, she'd given him a file with details on Cassie and Joseph Woods; Jess had told him, <em>'Well, they get a file on you, don't they? It's only fair you get to size them up as well.' </em></p><p>Since then, any time someone wanted to meet with him, she'd made a point of compiling 'data' on that person and giving it to him to read. </p><p>It had brought back a feeling of security and preparedness he, at the time, hadn't realized he'd been missing since entering the system. This didn’t completely even out the playing field, but it gave him a layer of defense, a way to know some of what he would be up against when he entered the war zone, so to speak.</p><p>Alexander had stared at the file for the better part of a day, trying to ignore it at first, before eventually bracing himself and flipping it open. He had not expected what he would find in there. What he'd been anticipating was some meth-head loser who'd knocked his mom and probably half a dozen other girls up and purposely ignored any attempts at contact from social services. </p><p>He should have known he could trust his mom's judgement more than that.</p><p>Instead he was met with the photograph of a tall serious-looking man in his late thirties, dressed in an green uniform covered in pins, ribbons and medals, with the American flag behind him, his gray-blue eyes calmer and softer than he'd expected, dark brownish red hair just barely beginning to silver.</p><p>George Washington was his name.</p><p>According to the file he was married to a Martha Daindridge, was forty-three years old now, had graduated high school at seventeen (cool), and immediately joined the U.S. Military Academy at West Point, from which he'd graduated in '93 with honors and a commission as an infantry officer (even cooler!). From there on he'd completed Ranger School at the age of 20 - which Alexander would admit, for all of his love of military history, he had needed to Google - and immediately was sent out to Italy as part of a light infantry unit, eventually leaving as a first lieutenant. He'd moved through the ranks quicker than usual, it seemed, and even became Aide-de-Camp (they still had those?) for high ranking Generals before becoming one himself! </p><p>He saw combat for the first time during the Iraqi war, around the time Alexander was born, funnily enough.</p><p>The boy found himself deeply engrossed in the military background of the man who he'd never met but thought about often; he'd survived being kidnapped by insurgents during the war and even successfully got his unit out alive, and was appointed a General by the age of forty, <em>incredible</em>. By the looks of it, he'd only just been honorably discharged for reasons not disclosed earlier this year, after twenty-five years serving his country. It was all quite impressive.</p><p>Deep down, though he knew it would probably never happen for him now, Alex had dreamed of one day becoming a soldier himself. He had a strong interest in politics, law, history, medicine, foreign cultures and writing himself and had considered careers in all of them at one point or another in his young life, but there was plenty of time to pursue those things later; what he'd wanted was to prove his worth to everyone who'd ever looked down on him and sneered because of those external factors he couldn't control. That probably wasn't going to happen now, but he hadn't given up entirely, not yet. Until someone like Washington looked him in the eye and told him he would never be accepted into the Army on account of his health, he would continue to hope for the best.</p><p>According to Jess' information, Mr. Washington was the father of two stepchildren, John and Martha Parke, and had a niece he'd adopted when she was still a baby, named Sarah, as well as being the legal guardian of someone named Gilbert. But there was no biological children listed, huh.</p><p>Though fascinated by the guy's history as a soldier, Alexander found himself disappointed by the lack of personal details provided; he could easily have looked up most of this stuff; if the man was as important as he sounded, than it was likely that he had a Wikipedia page he could look up for these facts. Normally Jess gave details on potential foster family's interests, habits, etc. so he could get a proper read on them. </p><p><em>But this isn't a foster family,</em> he reminded himself, <em>this is your actual father. She probably wants you to get to know him yourself. </em></p><p>That thought made his stomach hurt a little bit even now.</p><p>He took a deep breath and continued scanning the file intently.</p><p>Looking at the address of this man's family and zeroing in on his name, Alexander felt his throat close up; this man was well known. He wasn't just a former Army General, he was a career politician, he was from Virginia. He was a descendant of one of the original Colonial families that had immigrated from Britain hundreds of years ago. This was a man with a legacy. He had his own <em>estate</em> for God’s sake! Alexander had never even seen an <em>estate</em> in his life. </p><p>Fuck, and he was supposed to <em>live</em> with him? Alexander Hamilton, loud-mouth know-it-all that no one could stand talking to for more than a few minutes at a time unless they wanted something from him? A penniless foster kid who'd been harassed for being a "half breed" and "mutt" in the past despite the fact that he was clearly not. His mother was half French and half British, but because he wasn't originally born in the U.S. Virgin Islands (he was born on St. Kitts and Nevis, and while it was considered a Commonwealth Realm to the United Kingdom, they technically were their own country; which meant Alex was no more British than an Australian person was, but try telling Americans that). Because the island that he came from was majority black where white and multiracial people were the minority, most people here just assumed he was mixed regardless of his complexion.</p><p>Honestly being an immigrant on St. Croix just gave people even more of a reason to hate him, and... when you're getting picked on by <em>other</em> disabled foster kids? That pretty much made you the biggest loser around.</p><p>Why would Washington want anything to do with someone as pathetic as him? </p><p><em>Maybe he loved Ma, and that's why?</em> The more hopeful part of Alex suggested, before quickly being stamped out by his ever-present cynicism. <em>Or maybe Jess hasn't told him what a fucking basket case you are yet. He'll change his mind once he sees you.</em></p><p>After two weeks, he still had the file shoved under his pillow, counting down the days before he left. </p><p>It all felt so surreal. </p><p>He was really going to meet the man who'd helped create him after all this time, and just in time for him to hopefully get used to him and his new family before Christmas arrived. It was either going to be a dream come true or a nightmare. It had been a long time since he'd needed to be anybody's son. He hoped he remembered how.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, the teenager slowly got up and began packing his things.</p><p>He had a flight to catch soon.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Finding Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The woman frowned and seemed to take a deep breath, "My apologies, Sir, but I don't think we do. I have to ask, were you acquainted with a Mrs. Hamilton from the Leeward Islands, back in 2002?" she asked, sliding a photograph across his desk. </p><p>Mr. Washington looked up sharply from his desk, and Jess was pretty sure those icy blue eyes could have put the Arctic to shame. "Excuse me?"</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>Mount Vernon Estate,<br/>Fairfax County, Virginia<br/></em> <em>November, 2017</em></p><p>"Christ on a cracker." </p><p>That was pretty much all Jess Summers could think to say when she pulled her rented white Sedan up in front of the house. </p><p>Okay, maybe <em>house</em> was underselling it. </p><p>More like a huge motherfucking McMansion situated upon its own entire humongous farm on the edge of the Potomac River, with its own mini forest surrounding it. It was nearly three times the size of St. Raphael's and she was pretty sure you could easily house half the population of Christiansted on this property and still have room left over for a college campus or two. Who needed this much <em>space? </em></p><p>The social worker took a deep breath to collect herself before she slowly approached the massive, white plantation-style house, walking passed the immaculately kept gardens to the front entrance. </p><p>Jess made sure she had all the things that she would need from her car, most important being Alexander's case file. She fixed her hair and straightened her clothes before putting on the serious, not-quite-stern attitude she always wore for days like this, and knocked. </p><p>A couple minutes passed in silence and she was just about to try it again when the door was suddenly wrenched open. </p><p>She was faced not with either of the Washingtons, but instead found herself looking down at a young boy, maybe fourteen or fifteen years of age, but tall and rather gangly, suntanned and dressed for playing outdoors. His head was raised, shoulders straight, perfect posture. His hazel eyes were curious but expectant and his deep brown-red hair French-braided down his back. The child held himself like an aristocrat; it wasn't hard to guess who he was, but the first words out of his mouth confirmed it without a doubt: </p><p>"Bonne journée, Mademoiselle! Comment puis je—" He began to ask her before deflating slightly, and attempting to rectify his error, "I mean, um, how can I help you?" he held out his hand and when she went to shake his, he startled her by kissing it instead.</p><p>Well, then. </p><p>"Eh, bien. N'êtes-vous pas tout à fait le jeune gentilhomme?" Jess asked him, and the boy's eyes widened, his face splitting into a beaming grin when he realized she understood his native tongue. "Je cherche à parler à Martha ou à George Washington. Sont-ils à la maison, par hasard?" she wasn't completely fluent in the language, but she knew enough to get why she was there across. </p><p>The boy (his name was Gilbert, right?) nodded quickly and ushered her inside before turning and darting to the back of the house and out of sight. </p><p>Jess stood in the foyer awkwardly, hoping she wouldn't get security called on her. </p><p>Thankfully, she did not, and a few seconds later the boy returned, this time dragging a woman behind him. She knew from the photographs that this was George Washington's wife, Martha Custis Washington (formerly Daindridge). She was a tiny slip of a woman with long wavy dark brown hair and gray eyes with hazel brown rings circling the pupils, pretty and graceful with a tanned complexion. "So this is what was so important, hmm?"</p><p>She caught sight of Jess' relieved expression and looked down at the boy with a fond but exasperated look on her face, her tone gently scolding, "Gilbert! Did you just leave her standing there and run off? What have we told you about causing trouble?" </p><p>Gilbert flushed and quickly defended himself, <em>"Elle pour vous a demandé!"</em></p><p>"Mrs. Washington, it's no trouble. I asked him if you were home." She interjected, not wanting the boy to get upset or feel he had done something wrong for leaving her in the foyer. "I'm actually here to speak with your husband, is he around?" </p><p>Hearing that, the woman straightened, and her previously warm expression became ever so slightly more guarded, resting her hand on the boy's shoulder. "How can I help you, Miss...?" </p><p>"Ma'am, my name is Jessica Summers, and I'm here on behalf of the U.S.V.I. Children in Foster Care and Protective Services." </p><p>A look of surprise and confusion flickered across the woman's face, before she quickly fixed her expression into something neutral, turning around to face Gilbert and say something quietly to him. Jess couldn't hear, but based on the way the kid's shoulders drooped slightly, she could guess that Mrs. Washington was telling him to go and do something elsewhere while the adults spoke. </p><p>Eventually the boy huffed out a sigh and nodded, turning to give Jess a small wave, "<em>Au revoir</em>, Mademoiselle..." he turned and trudged upstairs. </p><p>The woman stood back up, "My husband is in his office at the moment, please come with me." she said curtly, which was the usual reaction she tended to get when people heard the word "Children's Services" these days. Everybody imagined some government goon snatching their crying children up and throwing them in the back of a van on some trumped up charge of abuse, never to be seen again.</p><p>It had long ago ceased to surprise or offend her.</p><p>Jess let out a silent breath and followed behind Martha, straightening her shoulders, letting her eyes train over the decor. </p><p>It was a beautiful home; an eclectic mix of old fashioned artwork and architecture, with modern furnishings and appliances that made it both convenient and historical somehow. She was led through a large dining room area with deep green walls and a fireplace. The dining room connected to a hallway near the southernmost section of the home, which had a pantry door, another entry point to the house, and a door to what she could only assume was Mr. Washington's office. </p><p>"Just give me a moment." The woman told her, gently knocking on the door and opening it before stepping in. </p><p>She only got the quickest glimpse of the inside before the door was firmly shut.</p><hr/><p>George couldn't even begin to guess why someone from CPS would want to visit them. </p><p>He and Martha had never had a single legitimate complaint filed against them with regards to Lafayette since taking him in, and none at all since Sarah was eleven years old and accidentally fell off her horse and had bruises as a result that concerned her teacher. His children were thirteen, fifteen, seventeen and twenty, and as far as he knew none of them were unhappy with them, nor had any of them been injured recently. He was instantly wary, people had attempted filing false reports against them before; thankfully they’d gone nowhere.</p><p>The door was opened by Martha and she disappeared into the hallway for a moment, he could see her speaking to the social worker. </p><p>A moment later, his wife led in a young woman with thick curly dark hair pulled back into a tight ponytail and sharp green eyes, she was wearing a Navy blue pencil skirt and matching blazer, a crisp white blouse and black rimmed glasses. She made her way across the room and he stood to greet her, causing her to falter at, presumably, his height, which always took people off guard the first time they saw him in person. </p><p>"I'll make some coffee while you two speak." His wife smiled tightly, and he could see the concern in her eyes.</p><p>He reached out towards her at the same time she composed herself and returned the gesture, shaking his hand, "Mr. Washington, thank you for seeing me, I know you must be a very busy man and I appreciate you taking the time. My name is Jessica Summers, and I'm here with the U.S. Virgin Islands Department of Human Services, more specifically the Children in Foster Care and Protective Services division. I'm here about your son, Alex." </p><p><em>Oh!</em> George found himself relaxing as they each took a seat. Martha hadn't mentioned she was coming from the <em>Virgin Islands</em>.</p><p>Clearly there had been some sort of misunderstanding. </p><p>"Well, it’s very nice to meet your acquaintance, ma'am, and I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it appears that somebody somewhere down the line has made an error. You see, I don't have any children." Well, not biologically speaking, anyways. Not that it mattered; his godson Gilbert, stepchildren Jacky and Patsy, and his niece Sarah were his whole world and he wouldn't have given up the privilege of getting to raise them for anything in the world. "Certainly not one from the Virgin Islands; I've never even had the pleasure of visiting there before. You must have the wrong man. I’m sorry you’ve come all this way, but I would be more than happy to provide my services if there’s anything else I can help you with while you’re in town." He felt bad that she’d flown all the way out here to deliver sensitive news in person, when a phone call could have saved her the hassle.</p><p>The woman frowned and seemed to take a deep breath, "My apologies, Sir, but I don't think we do. This may be difficult to hear, but I have to ask, were you acquainted with a Miss Rachel Faucette from St. Kitts and Nevis, back in 2002?" she asked. </p><p>Mr. Washington looked up sharply from his desk, and Jess was pretty sure those icy blue eyes could have put Antarctica to shame. Fortunately, she’d been given enough death glares in her profession that it didn’t really faze her... much. <em>"Excuse me?"</em></p><p>Before he could lose his cool at her, Jess took out a photograph and slid it across the desk towards him.</p><p>He stared down at the image of a smiling, tanned black-haired woman with twinkling dark blue eyes, holding a small boy he'd once known well, James Jr. </p><p><em>Rachel</em>. </p><p>That face brought back with him many memories which he had thought he’d put behind him nearly two decades ago. Apparently he was incorrect about that, if the twist of his heart and his dry mouth was anything to go by.</p><p>
  <em> “Come with you? To Virginia? You want me to live with you, on your Mount Vernon? No. I... I’m so sorry, but I can’t leave the islands. This is my home, George. I can’t go with you... and if you truly love me, you won’t ask me again. Please, darling. Let’s just enjoy the time we have left together.”</em>
</p><p>"How did you—"</p><p>Miss Summers continued, however, her voice soft in a way that made him uncomfortable, "...and did you, perhaps, have a physical relationship with this woman around April or May of that year?" </p><p>"I..." </p><p>George let the single word trail off, thinking back to memories he'd long ago thought had been put behind him. </p><p>
  <em>Short manicured nails ran through his hair, the sunset sparkling against her brilliant smile, beautiful twilight-colored eyes looking up at him in the dusky night on the beach, pulling on his uniform jacket and stretching up as tall as she could to kiss him on the lips, her gentle laugh in his ears...</em>
</p><p>"I don’t—why are you asking me this? How do you know about Rachel?" he asked, shaking his head as though he could dislodge the past from his mind. All he had of her was a single photograph of the two of them and precious few keepsakes of that time in his life, and while he hadn't exactly erased Rachel from his life (Martha had heard him speak of her, on a rare occasion) he did not like to loiter in the past. The fact that anyone was aware they'd even known each other, much less had a relationship at one point, was... somewhat disconcerting.</p><p><em>'I think you know why'</em>, her expression told him, but she reached into a folder he hadn't been aware she was carrying and withdrew a printed document, handing it over to him. Somehow, George realized what it was before his fingers even touched it.</p><p>A birth certificate. </p><p>His hands were trembling as he sat back in his chair, his eyes moving over the details, again and again as they struggled to absorb everything:</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Government of Saint Christopher (St. Kitts) and Nevis</em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <strong> <em>Certificate of Live Birth </em> </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>Alexander Jay Hamilton</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Male</em>
  <br/>
  <em>01-11-2003</em>
  <br/>
  <em>12:47 A.M</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Charlestown, Saint Paul Charlestown Parish,</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Federation of Saint Christopher (St. Kitts) and Nevis </em>
  <br/>
  <em>6 lbs, 2 oz</em>
  <br/>
  <em>#SKNA6590307121804</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Starlight Maternity Clinic </em>
  <br/>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link"> <em>(49RC+84 Charlestown, St Kitts &amp; Nevis)</em><br/></span> </span>
</p><p><span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">There was more, it was the long-form birth certificate, but that was the gist of it... and there, at the very bottom, was Rachel's signature under the maternal information. She had filled in his information as well, but the signature was left blank.</span> </span> <span class="section-info-text"><span class="widget-pane-link">January 2003... assuming a gestation period of the typical forty weeks, the child would have to have been conceived in April of the previous year, just like the woman said. </span> </span></p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">George knew for a fact that James Hamilton Sr., Rachel's long time on-again/off-again partner, hadn't been anywhere near St. Kitts and Nevis in the time they'd known each other. He’d been off on some sort of business venture in the UK.</span></span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">He had a son.</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"Alexander?" The man looked up as he said it, feeling like something was stuck in his throat as he spoke, the name sounding foreign and heavy on his tongue as he redirected his wide gaze to Miss Summers. She didn't seem particularly surprised by his reaction. His tone changed to one of disapproval,<em> "...Hamilton?" </em></span></span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">He wasn't annoyed exactly (well, perhaps a little), but confused... Rachel couldn't pick up the phone and call him, or write, to tell him she was pregnant, but she could give their boy her flighty lover’s family name? George knew that she wouldn't do that without James' consent; but even in deciding to allow him to raise Alexander she had still not had the man listed as the father on the birth certificate? This didn't make sense to him. Unless she wanted him to one day have a relationship with the child they created together.</span></span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"Yes. I take it that Miss Faucette did not make you aware of Alexander’s existence?" </span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"><span class="widget-pane-link">"No." The former General swallowed thickly, "No, she did not."</span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">Jessica nodded, her expression almost infuriatingly composed, yet sympathetic. In a matter of seconds and in under a hundred words she'd managed to shatter George's entire <em>world</em> and leave him reeling, but to her this was no doubt just another part of her job. "I thought so. Well, that certainly complicates the situation somewhat." </span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"What do you mean?" <em>A son, you have a son. He would be... fourteen now? Fifteen in a little over two months. How... why didn't she tell me? Rachel knows me, she knows I would have come back for them. Even if she refused to come with me, I could have been there for them, I could have helped... visited...</em></span></span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"Sir, I don't know how to tell you this, but... we've been trying to track down a copy of this birth certificate since the summer of 2014, when he first entered our custody." She said softly, and he slowly put the documents down. His silent question was written all across his face. "Alex—I mean, Alexander, was taken in by the local Children’s Services in Christiansted, where he's been living since his mother immigrated to St. Croix of the U.S. Virgin Islands. We picked him and his older brother James Hamilton up after the deaths of their cousin and uncle, Peter and James Lytton, within a month of each other, as their deaths left them without any family either willing or suitable to take care of the boys. His brother left the system in 2015 after his seventeenth birthday, and though he was still underage he made it clear he had no desire to be found another placement, choosing to live with a friend of his until he turned eighteen. Alexander remained in the custody of a friend of his mother's until they were forced to leave for the mainland and unable to take him with them." She was shuffling through some papers now, all business.<br/></span></span>
</p><p>The General was frozen where he sat, only vaguely aware of what she was saying, and his eyes were drawn unwillingly to the birth certificate again, combing over every detail for any indication a mistake had been made. He had a <em>child... </em>a son that was biologically his... </p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"Now, he doesn't currently have a viable U.S. Passport, both Rachel, her husband and her children obtained one when they came here as dual citizens in July of 2009, but children under the age of sixteen must renew their passports every five years. It shouldn't take too long to get this sorted out. Thankfully, American citizens do not legally need a passport to travel between the mainland and any of its territories, be it St. Thomas, Puerto Rico, etc. " </span> </span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">George, still mostly in shock from the revelation he had a teenaged son he’d never known about and trying to process everything she was saying, could only utter, "But the United States of America doesn't recognize dual citizenship..."</span> </span>
</p><p><span class="section-info-text"><span class="widget-pane-link">"Well, no, not formally," Jess agreed, "But, you see, they also haven't taken any sort of stand against it, either politically or legally. Frankly speaking, as far as the U.S. is concerned it simply doesn't exist in our laws. The way it works is that, through the process of naturalization, the</span></span> Oath of Allegiance for the United States of America requires renunciation from Allegiance to another country. Though in principle the renunciation from Allegiance to one's home country does not mean that you are no more the citizen of that country. There are no agencies or organizations that control renunciation from citizenship. The country of St. Kitts and Nevis does not forbid citizens from returning if they renounce their citizenship, so long as they continue to hold passports for both countries, making it something of a token gesture. If Alexander wants to renew his passport to the Federation of St. Kitts and Nevis when his expires, he'll be nineteen years old and that will be his prerogative, but <em>legally</em> he is a United States citizen. As I mentioned before, he does not need a passport to come to Virginia, but we do recommend citizens not born on the mainland have one anyways, just in case."</p><p>She didn't elaborate on what exactly she meant, but he understood it was so that, should someone harass them about it or they be arrested for any reason, they could prove in a pinch that they were legal citizens (unfortunately it wasn't unheard of for Americans not from the mainland, particularly those that spoke with an accent, getting accused of being illegal aliens and ending up tangled with Immigration and Customs Enforcement).</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">George put a hand to his head, where he could feel a severe headache beginning to form, "Okay, back up for a minute. I still don't understand. What happened to Rachel? She would never let her sons end up in foster care. Also, why weren't you able to find me until now? I'm not exactly difficult to find out information about." He pointed out, wryly. </span></span>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">"Well, in answer to your second question, it was because the physical files of the Starlight Maternity Clinic were destroyed in an earthquake in 2007, and all the digital copies were sealed and pending government approval to release them as they contained sensitive information about underage children and their mothers. When we asked Alexander for information about his birth father, he couldn't provide a name, so we were left fighting to unseal his documents, which required permission granted by St. Kitts and Nevis on his behalf since he didn't have an adult guardian at the time who could grant it for him. As for your first question... Mr. Washington, I'm so sorry, but Rachel Hamilton passed away due to complications from a viral disease in early 2013." </span> </span>
</p><p>
  <em> <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">Rachel is... dead...?</span> </span> </em>
</p><p>
  <span class="section-info-text"> <span class="widget-pane-link">It made sense, of course, if she was alive then there would be no reason for this woman to be here.</span></span>
</p><p>But he could still feel a part of himself slipping into denial, even though he hadn't seen her in over fifteen years. He hadn't felt a grief this overwhelming since the separate funerals of his two older brothers, Lawrence and Augustine. Rachel was gone and his child had been left at the mercy of the system because he hadn't known, when he was just a little boy.</p><p>"I... okay. So, now what?" He had to ask, well aware of the fact that he sounded completely numb at the moment, but unable to do anything about it. Eventually it would all come crashing down on him, but for now he felt almost calm, and he would prefer to have this situation sorted out while he was still in control of his emotions. The breakdown could come later. "What happens now that I...know?" </p><p>Miss Summers exhaled, "That's the winning question, isn't it? I can see you're overwhelmed, Mr. Washington, so I'll make it as simple as I can: Typically when we locate the biological parent of a child in our care we try to keep them with family, and placing them in foster care is a last resort. Alexander is already a United States citizen since the Virgin Islands is a part of this country, and normally it would be as simple as an evaluation of the home and getting your signed consent that you wish to take custody of Alexander. If not then a child his age will usually be placed in a temporary group home until a foster family can be located. Alexander isn't currently in foster care at the moment so if you do want him to stay with you, arranging it shouldn't take more than a week or so. If you wish to pre-arrange a meeting with Alexander before you agree to anything, we can take care of that either in person or online." </p><p>
  <em><strong>If</strong> I want him? Of course I want the boy to stay with me! </em>
</p><p>The woman looked startled, and then a small smile appeared on her face. Had he accidentally said that out loud? </p><p>"About the cost of the passport; the fee is $95, but given you are a biological relative and we don't do off-island foster placements, this would be a more permanent arrangement, so we are willing—"</p><p>He was shaking his head, "No, no... I can pay, money isn't an issue for us. I... what else can you tell me about Alexander?"</p><p>George didn't know the first thing about this boy aside from what he had just read, but he knew all he needed to: the child was his. It was his responsibility to look after him, and even if he wasn't he would have considered it to be anyways, for Rachel if not for himself; if he had known she died before now, he would have been on the first flight over to pick up both James and Alexander himself. Which begged the question, why had Rachel never told him? Was the child okay? Surely even if he wasn't able to take care of him the brothers were still in touch? James would be nineteen years old now, if memory served him, so at least the teenager wasn't completely alone, right?</p><p>That was when the woman's words registered with him; the boy wasn't currently in a foster home.</p><p>"Wait! He's not in foster care? But you said his guardians either died or were no longer able to take care of him - so then where is he now?" he asked, a bit more demanding than he'd intended to sound. He felt like he was choking on his own emotions. </p><p>"Easy, Mr. Washington. I know this is a lot to take in but please relax. Alexander is fine. At the moment he's residing at St. Raphael's Healing House; it's a non-profit private Christian orphanage in St. Croix that specializes in caring for injured or disabled children struggling with finding home placements or who need special attention that most foster homes are unable to provide, either due to physical disabilities, differing psychological care requirements or developmental delays. It’s an organization dedicated to the humane treatment of foster kids with special needs of any sort."</p><p>Oh. George frowned, concerned, "Does Alexander have any of those issues?" </p><p>Jess swallowed, "Not exactly..." </p><p>This was the part where it was going to get <em>really</em> shitty. </p><p>"Mr. Washington, Alexander was diagnosed with ADHD as a child and has the conditions typically associated with it, bouts of general anxiety and whatnot, but the reason he's at St. Raphael's is a bit more complicated. After the death of their mother, the boys returned from St. Thomas where they had been living since their aunt's funeral, they moved in with their cousin and eventually their uncle back on St. Croix. After their deaths, they were placed with the Woods family in Frederiksted and remained with them from August, 2014 to February 2015 - it was a good placement, they were happy - but then the husband's work transferred him out of the country; as the boys were underage and citizens of the U.S. they would not have been permitted to take them along without going through the process of adoption first, which can unfortunately be... lengthy. They stayed with the Williams family for a period of time after that but it... didn't work out nearly as well." At his questioning look, she sighed. "There were concerns of neglect and possible physical abuse brought up after Alexander ran away shortly after entering their care and refused to return to them when he was located, so we withdrew them from the home immediately pending an investigation. We were searching for a way to keep them under the same roof in August of that year, when a friend of Mrs. Hamilton's - Thomas Stevens - volunteered to foster them both and brought them home with him. James, however, left soon after he turned seventeen and avoided another placement until he'd aged out of the system, as I mentioned before, and Alexander remained with them for the next month. Mr. Stevens and his wife were discussing adopting Alexander, who got along rather well with their youngest son, Ned, and... then Virgin Islands were caught in the middle of Teresa." she told him, and George's eyes widened.</p><p>Teresa... he knew that name. It was a category 5 hurricane that had ripped across the Caribbean just over two years ago, leaving a trail of destruction in the U.S. Virgin Islands (St. Croix, St. Thomas and St. John), Puerto Rico, the British Virgin Islands and Antigua and Barbuda before finally dissipating, killing no less than two thousand people either directly or in complications following it (earthquakes, collapsed buildings, illness and injury), leaving another near two million people displaced or homeless. Puerto Rico had just barely begun to recover from it when Maria struck a few months ago. </p><p>Those poor people were constantly being effected by these humanitarian crises, and his chest hurt if he spent too much time thinking about it.</p><p>"What happened?" he questioned, barely daring to ask. <em>Surely, it couldn't get much worse for him, not after losing his entire family in less than three years</em>. That's what he wanted to believe, but the look on her face told him otherwise.</p><p>Miss Summers quietly reached into her folder and withdrew a photo-copy of a picture, somewhat faded, and a much clearer photo. The first picture was, he assumed, Alexander, at what appeared to be a birthday party. His breath caught at the sight of him and George felt his throat close up. He looked about eight, maybe nine. Small in build, with shaggy auburn hair and striking violet-blue eyes, his skin a warm golden hue that suggested he spent plenty of time outdoors under the Caribbean sunshine. He had a huge grin on his face as he held up a plate of white birthday cake with teal and purple frosting. <em>That was his boy.</em></p><p>Tearing his eyes off of the picture sooner than he would have liked, he turned his attention to the other one, and the fluttering sensation in his chest vanished, replaced by a heavy sensation of lead in his gut, he felt like the air had been vacuumed out of his lungs. </p><p>It was a more recent picture, this one taken in a hospital. </p><p>The same boy, now twelve years of age, was laying on a large bed that nearly swallowed him up, with an oxygen mask strapped over his mouth and nose, his face had several stitched cuts along his cheek, jaw and forehead and multiple huge, healing purple bruises dotted across his body, his complexion was chalky, sallow even. His left arm was in both a cast and a sling that tied behind his neck, tubes and wires of all different sorts going in and out of him and... his lower body... <em>Jesus Christ</em>. Alexander's lower limbs were almost entirely encased in a hip spica cast, if he recalled the name correctly; his right side was covered by the cast from hip to ankle, and his left leg from the knee up. The child was miserable, he could tell, his face was a blank expression, his eyes sad, empty, lost. Tucked beneath his uninjured arm was some sort of blue toy stuffed animal. </p><p>Although George had seen that sort of expression many times before on people living through war, civilians and soldiers alike, he hadn't expected to see it on the face of his own son (which was to be expected, he was a soldier not a disaster relief volunteer). A little boy should never have such a lonely and confused look on their face.</p><p>It was one of the most heartbreaking things he'd ever seen.</p><p>"When the eyewall of the storm hit St. Croix as it made its way through the islands, Alexander and one of the Stevens' children, Edward, were both in their home in Christiansted. They went to the top floor as was recommended by the warnings issued out across the island telling people to get to higher ground to reduce the risk of drowning, but... it was a lot more violent than they'd anticipated, and a few earthquakes came in the aftermath along with severe windstorms. The floor gave out under them and the roof of the home collapsed on top of the boys when they were home by themselves." She said, watching as the man slowly covered his mouth with his hand, his face going pale as the horror of her words sunk in.</p><p>"They were trapped in there for over twenty four hours, and the house was mostly destroyed by the end of it. They were both dehydrated and slightly malnourished as they had been separated from their family for roughly six days after evacuation attempts shut down most of the island's transportation. Edward sustained a severe concussion causing a slow bleed into the brain that nearly killed him, a minor tailbone injury and a broken ankle, and he was in a medicated coma for a while to bring down the swelling." She inhaled deeply, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the edge of the folder. "Alexander was much worse off. According to the EMS that arrived on scene, by the time they managed to clear the debris, Alexander was unresponsive, though his head injury was relatively minor he'd suffered several serious fractures and other injuries, the only reason he survived was because his foster brother that he was with was studying to be a doctor and did his best to keep him awake and stable as long as he could before his own head injury caused him to lose consciousness. If they had taken any longer rescuing them, he would have died from blood loss or suffocation. I have his medical information here from his primary physician, if you want to take a look." </p><p>George most certainly did <em>not</em> want to look, but he found himself holding his hand out anyways as she passed him the folder.</p><p>He winced at the sight of his x-rays and flipped to the assessment information, his stomach churning with every word he read. Even if he only half understood some of the medical jargon used, he could piece together from the pictures provided just how severe it was. His heart sank more and more the longer he read on, occasionally skipping over a paragraph or two in order to find out what the ultimate conclusion was regarding the boy's health, translating what he understood along the way.</p><p><em>According to the interview from the police with Mr. Stevens, the top floor of the house gave way, causing them to fall to the floor beneath and resulting in his broken ankle and many of the patient's injuries. Debris from the roof caving in fell upon the boy, pinning him to the floor and giving him multiple traumatic injuries, including a Pneumothorax </em>(he knew that meant a collapsed lung) <em>and Haemothorax</em> (that was blood in the pleural cavity of the chest, he was fairly certain). <em>Despite a few small complications along the way, the fluid was successfully drained and a Thoracostomy procedure quickly prevented further medical risks</em> (that meant they had re-inflated his lung via a tube inserted either into the chest or between the ribs, didn't it?). <em>This procedure was minimally invasive</em>. </p><p>He didn't realize he was tapping his hand on the desk rhythmically as he went over the list of things Alexander had broken, wincing at the particularly painful sounding ones and feeling his heart ache for this child he didn't even know, for everything he'd had to go through.</p><p><em>The patient sustained a closed distal radius fracture and ulnar fracture in his left arm, breaking his right hip as well as suffering a minor vertebral compression fracture. No injury to the cervical spine was detected in scans, nor any fracture that would result in paralysis. The worst breaks, however, were a combined fracture of the tibia and fibula of the right leg that required surgical realignment after the upper portion of the tibia punctured through the exterior wall of the knee</em> (Dear God...). <em>There were signs of Gangrene due to the open nature of the fracture causing the wound area to become contaminated, but the young Stevens boy kept it as clean as possible first by pouring an entire bottle of Hydrogen Peroxide into the wound and then periodically flushing it with alcohol from his parents’ liquor cabinet until help could arrive, which prevented the infection from spreading and may well have saved the patient’s limb. He’s currently on a strong antibiotic IV.</em></p><p>Of <em>his left leg, the patella and femur were both fractured, but the injuries were considerably less severe than in his right leg. He also suffered a minor sternum fracture and multiple bilateral broken ribs that caused the Pneumothorax. </em><em>There were contusions and lacerations on his face, arms, legs and other parts of his body, as well as a mild concussion. Both children were dehydrated and required intravenous nutrients and saline while in the PICU. The severe trauma left him in a coma for just under a week, and he will require extensive physical therapy to regain the strength in his muscles and may be able to continue walking once his legs have healed. Once his arm is out of his cast he will be able to use crutches to move around instead of the wheelchair. This will be good for his mental and physical health, as a sedentary lifestyle can greatly diminish quality of life and worsen the recovery process, and result in depression. </em> <em>Patient was suffering from Hypovolemic Shock upon rescue due to losing nearly 21% of his blood volume from a more serious laceration near the femoral artery. His foster sibling in the home with him managed to stem the worst of the blood flow with a makeshift tourniquet and over 10 units of blood were transfused to the patient during the next... </em></p><p>George shook his head, gripping the file tighter, he felt like something was piercing his chest; how had he <strong><em>survived </em></strong>all of this?</p><p><em>The fact the boy lived as long as he did while nearly aspirating on his own blood is nothing short of a miracle, but even if we've done everything right, there's a chance he'll never regain full strength in both of his legs again, the damage was more extensive than we'd thought.</em> <em>In addition, </em><em>Alexander shows an abnormal tolerance to opioid medication - likely due to a genetic predisposition as there is nothing in his file indicating previous need for prescription opiates. Non-Steroidal Anti-Inflammatory medications are proving ineffectual for his level of pain currently, we will continue seeking alternate dosages to find a treatment for pain best suited to him. He is currently on low as-needed oral dosage of OxyContin to help him sleep at night while we search for alternative measures to treat bone pain while avoiding risk of drug dependence and other negative side effects... </em></p><p>
  <em>...the patient is recovering well under physical therapy and no longer needs the use of a wheelchair to move to and from his room. However, his pain still fluctuates on a day-by-day basis, and his complaints of worsening pain flare-ups in the hands, hips and knees seem to coincide with that of dramatic shifts in the weather. There is a very strong possibility of developing Post-traumatic arthritis or Fibromyalgia due to significant joint trauma—</em>
</p><p>
  <em>We’ve finally found a combination of NSAID and a lower dose of OxyContin that works for Alexander. Physical therapist has recommended a new line of post-recovery pain management treatments including hot/cold application in the evening, hydrotherapy and KNGF-guideline massage therapy during the day. Patient says he is willing to try anything. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>The foster family of the patient is leaving for New York City next Friday due to the destruction of their home and have reluctantly had to give up custody of Alexander; after repeated inquiries into his condition, I have unfortunately concluded that he is not yet recovered enough for long travel like his foster brother, especially not by airplane with limited availability for movement and not yet having his casts removed. He will possibly be transferred to St. Raphael's facility in order to provide round the clock care until a suitable family is located on the island. </em>
</p><p><em>Alexander needed to be sedated today after lashing out at one of his physical therapists for trying to help him walk to the cafeteria, I advise caution when dealing with him as he's begun to push himself for a faster recovery than his body is currently capable of, and his belligerent behavior may be a result of his traumatic experience during the hurricane. I've set an appointment with him to visit the pediatric psychiatrist at the hospital. </em><em>X-rays are showing remarkable improvement in bone healing; he is getting stronger by the day but the pain has yet to lessen significantly. Additionally, the physical therapist assigned to Alexander states that his mobility should not rule him out for possible future degenerative bone diseases; she asserts that he will likely require a lumbar spinal fusion surgery due to physical trauma often hastening the degeneration of muscle mass and a premature loss of fluid in the intervertebral </em> <em>discs—</em></p><p>George quickly flipped the file shut, his stomach churning, unable to read anymore. </p><p>"My God, he's been through so much..." the man murmured quietly, as though speaking to himself. </p><p>No child should have to go through that, but he knew it was all too common. Normally, despite how heart-wrenching it was to hear and see, he was able to maintain his composure. This time it was different though; this time he was looking at his child... <em>Rachel's</em> child, and the before and after photographs of what the hurricane had done were making him feel sick.</p><p>Jess leaned forward in her seat and gingerly placed her hand on top of the ex-General's, causing him to tense, although he didn't pull away.</p><p>"Mr. Washington, I realize that this is... not something you were expecting to hear today. But I want you to know that your ignorance of Alexander's birth is not your fault, and what happened to him is completely out of your hands. It's tragic, it... fucking <em>sucks</em>, if I'm being quite honest, Sir," she said, and he quirked an eyebrow at her, surprised by the cuss. "But it's not anyone's fault, we don't get to choose the weather, and we have no control over who lives, who dies... I've been Alexander's social worker for several years now. He's a strong, <em>brilliant</em> kid, truly one of the most resilient I've ever met and in this line of work that's saying something. Despite some hiccups he's faced along the way he's refused to let what happened in his life define him. If I may, Sir, I know any person would be lucky to have him as their child. And, right now, I really think he could use a family more than a hospital at this point in his life." </p><p>He looked at her for a long moment. </p><p>"...When can we meet him?"</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hurricane Teresa is not real. I didn't feel comfortable using Maria or a real storm that actually ruined so many lives for a story, so I picked a year and looked up the names of 2015 Atlantic storms (which are recycled every few years unless they decide to 'retire' the name if it becomes associated with a particularly devastating storm, Maria and Katrina are two retired names for example), and since Teresa hadn't been used that year I chose it for the name of Alexander's fictional hurricane.</p><p>Also, Alexander Hamilton does not have a known middle name. However, I've always theorized that his middle name might have been 'James'. Here's why; Alexander James is a reoccurring name in his family. One of his children was named Alexander Jr., of course, and the child born after him was named James Alexander. Seems weird to give your kid a middle name that's the first name of one of your other children, right? Well, not back then. </p><p>Because of how names were back then and how children were named after their fathers, it seems likely that Hamilton just never used his middle name but that he did have one, or perhaps not since many people just didn't have one. It should be noted that is real life father was named James Alexander Hamilton, which is who his older brother James Jr. was named after. James Sr.'s father and brother (from Grange) were also both named Alexander Hamilton. So even if there's no record of it, James probably is his middle name if he did in fact have one.</p><p>That being said, because in my AU James Hamilton is not his biological father, I don't think his mom would have named him that. I couldn't think of a middle name that really flowed well, but short middle names work better with long first and last names. So I chose 'Jay', it's simple and it works in my opinion.</p><p>English-French Translations (courtesy of Google Translate lmao):</p><p>"Bonne journée, Mademoiselle! Comment puis je—" = "Good day, Miss! How can I—"<br/>"Eh, bien. N'êtes-vous pas tout à fait le jeune gentilhomme?" = "Well, aren't you quite the young Gentleman?"<br/>"Je cherche à parler à Martha ou à George Washington. Sont-ils à la maison, par hasard?" = "I'm looking to speak to Martha or George Washington. Are they at home, by any chance?"<br/>"Elle pour vous a demandé!" = "She asked for you!"<br/>"Au revoir, Mademoiselle!" = "Goodbye, Miss!"</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Night They Met</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Her hand touched his back reassuringly, and her warm green eyes seemed to remind him to breathe, which he did, holding it and trying not to seem too obvious how scared he was. Turning from Jess to look up at the Washingtons, he forced his tongue to un-stick from the roof of his dry mouth, and whispered almost too quietly to be heard, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Washington. My name is Alex Hamilton..." He swallowed and broke eye-contact quickly, hoping neither of them took his staring as a sign of disrespect. "...Thank you for... for having me."</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U.S.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>November, 2017</em>
</p><p>They were about two hours into a four hour drive from New York City to Mount Vernon, Virginia, having arrived together on a continuous flight via the Henry E. Rohlsen Airport in St. Croix. Jess and the department she worked for weren't comfortable with the idea of a 14-year-old (especially one who'd run away at least once in the past and had a history of fucking things up) flying alone or travelling by himself all the way across a country he was unfamiliar with, so she was accompanying him, which was a relief; at least someone would be there when he met his... when he met Mr. Washington and his wife. </p><p>Alexander was tired, but nervous energy kept him from falling asleep (it didn't help that car rides made him feel uncomfortable in general) so he looked out the window instead, taking in the scenery that flew by.</p><p>It was getting late, and the lingering glow of the sunset had long since been obliterated by the rapid falling of a dark, moonless night. He had watched as the salmon pink and mauve purple sky had dipped into a dark twilight blue before plunging into a vast expanse of jet back that engulfed the city, the brilliant luminosity of the stars almost completely drowned out by the light pollution of Philadelphia. He was glad when they left the city and he could see the night sky again. A lot of people were afraid of the dark, but Alexander had always found it strangely comforting.</p><p>The nighttime was quiet back home, peaceful, a sharp contrast to the bustling of the daytime at the docks and the markets; as he learned, in the mainland of the U.S., the day time and the night were both nuts. He was glad the Washingtons didn't live in the city; though he loved the idea of living in New York or somewhere big like that eventually, he wasn't sure he was quiet ready for the nonstop pace it would have, if what he'd seen earlier was a preview of what he could expect. His whole <em>life</em> had felt like a whirlwind, he was ready for something slow and monotonous.</p><p>As they exited the city, things settled down and grew quiet again, save for the sound of passing cars. </p><p>With his head propped up in the palm of his hand, gazing out at the blackness, he fell into an almost trance-like state for the next little while, only breaking out of it when Jess spoke for the first time in a while. </p><p>"We're getting closer... are you excited?" she asked, glancing at him with a knowing grin.</p><p>Alexander pulled his gaze from the window and sat up slightly, stretching and feeling his bones pop; in a pleasant way for a change. "I think... <em>terrified</em> would be a more apt description." He admitted, because the orphanage therapist had told him he should be more honest with the people he liked. "But I guess I am kind of looking forward to it... I want this to work, you know? I'm..." <em>Tired of being alone</em>. <em>I want a home again.</em> "...glad to be out of St. Raphael's. It's a good place, but I think I was getting crazier the longer I spent in there. I just want to feel like a normal person again."</p><p>He saw her shift towards him out of the corner of his eye, so he didn't flinch when she touched his shoulder, "Alex, you <em>are</em> normal. Just because some bad things happened to you doesn't make you a—"</p><p>"Freak? Cripple? Basket case?" The teenager suggested.</p><p>She gave him a look, the one she would give him whenever she thought he was being too negative about himself, "Alexander." </p><p>"Jessica," he replied mockingly, before he sighed and looked out the windshield for a moment. "You know what I mean though, right? I just want to put it behind me. The daily inspections and weekly medical evaluations and all the questions. I want to go back to a real school and sleep in a place where there aren't twenty other kids that no one else wanted." She didn't respond to that, but he could feel her disapproval. </p><p>"...Sorry. What were you going to say?"</p><p>Jess was one of probably three people whose opinion of him he actually cared about, and she knew that; it really wasn't fair how willingly she used it against him though.</p><p>"I was going to say that what happened doesn't make you any less human, or any less deserving of a new start." She told him, her voice kind. She was always kind, and patient. More patient than a kid like him deserved. "But I understand what you mean, probably more than most. I was a foster kid too; it's perfectly fine to want a sense of normalcy back in your life. Try not to be so cynical about it though, okay? A little optimism here won't kill you, and if you really find it that unbearable, shoot me a text. I bought you that phone so you could tell me when you're not doing well, please try to use it." </p><p>He frowned, "But the long distance charges—"</p><p>The brunette shook her head, "Sweetie, if I cared about those I wouldn't have given it to you in the first place. This is going to be a big change for you, different from the islands, you know that, right?" </p><p>"Yeah but at least the chance of a building falling on top of me is significantly lower here." </p><p>She flicked his ear, "You are such a morbid fourteen-year-old, what happened to the innocent kid I met, huh?" </p><p>"He went into foster care and accessed the Internet for the first time!" Alexander told her cheerfully, and she rolled her eyes. "No, seriously, spend five minutes on social media and you'll lose your will to live, I promise." </p><p>Jess shook her head at him, "It's getting late, you want to maybe try getting some sleep until we arrive?" He snorted and she allowed a small smile. "In that case, my tablet is in the backseat, why don't you put on a movie? I have a couple of calls I need to make before we get there." She said, nodding towards the speaker built into the doors of her rented car. Ah, right. He wasn't allowed to hear her discuss other foster kids.</p><p>Alex carefully twisted around in his seat and grabbed the mini computer, plugging his headphones into it.</p><p>Though it would have been easy enough to listen in on her, he wouldn't be seeing any of those people again (hopefully) anyways, so what was the point? Besides, she trusted him and he wasn't keen to lose the faith of the one adult in his life who still believed in him. Scrolling through the movies she had downloaded, he found <em>Deadpool</em> among them and smiled slightly, settling in to watch it. </p><p>If Ryan Reynolds couldn't put him at ease, no one could.</p><hr/><p>
  <em>Mount Vernon Estate<br/>Fairfax County, Virginia</em>
</p><p>He awoke just as Jess was pulling up at the estate, having accidentally dozed off about forty minutes into the movie, which he had a feeling was her intention from the beginning. She knew reading, television/movies or games were the best way to make him sleepy when he was anxious and needed to wind down. </p><p>"Mmm... what time is it?" Alex asked, pulling the headphones off and blinking as he looked around the dark car.</p><p>She took a quick glance at her phone, "Almost 11:00. I let your father and his wife know ahead of time that the traffic was congested this afternoon and we might not make it until late, it looks like they left the lights on. Let me get your things and then we'll go up to the door together." he tried not to wince at the term <em>father</em>. That would take some getting used to.</p><p>"I can carry my own bags." He protested, pushing his hair out of his eyes as he unbuckled the seat-belt; as soon as he started to get out of the car though, he realized that he couldn't. Long periods of time spent sitting were kind of annoying on good days and downright hellish on less-than-good days. Standing up outside, his legs somehow managed to feel like heavyweights <em>and</em> Jell-O at the same time, and he crossed his arms behind his head and started to stretch out the cramps when he turned and saw the house...</p><p>"Holy shit, are you freaking <em>kidding</em> me?"</p><p>Alexander stared, open-mouthed, at the positively <strong>enormous</strong> <a href="https://mtv-main-assets.mountvernon.org/files/resources/adventure-map_historic-area_2_map-only.pdf">property</a> in front of him.</p><p>The white plantation-style house was at least three stories tall, <em>minimum</em>, with colonnades that stretched out from both sides to connect to two outbuildings, and he could see several more that were detached from the rest of the building, the land it was situated upon seemed to stretch in every direction. Also, was that a <em>barn</em> behind the house? Wait, he had read something about Washington coming from a family of farmers, hadn't he? </p><p>Although known the place would be large, it was an <em>estate</em> after all, and one not even located in a city, he hadn't imagined <em>this</em>. He couldn't see any non-farm properties for miles. That was really when it sunk in; he was about to meet his father, a high ranking ex-Army General who lived in a freaking mansion... when had his life become the plot of a bad soap opera?</p><p>His social worker laughed softly, "Yeah, that's pretty much the reaction I first had too." </p><p>Jess pulled his suitcase and his Army green canvas duffel bag out of the trunk, and he stared at it unhappily, wishing he could carry his own crap but knowing it wasn't a good idea when he A) had been sitting for a good majority of the last two days, and B) didn't have his cane out with him. Fuck. </p><p>"Hey," she prodded him out of that line of thinking, nodding towards the house, and he turned to see light illuminating the entire rounded pathway, and two figures standing in the doorway. As soon as he saw them, his heart was suddenly thundering in his chest, and his sweaty hands made him glad that he wasn't carrying anything now as they approached the entrance. </p><p>The woman, his stepmother he assumed (God that was <em>weird</em> to think about) was a tiny thing, only a couple of inches taller than he was which wasn't saying much, fair and petite, with soft eyes that were a grayish color but had chocolate brown rings circling the pupils - <em>central heterochromia iridium</em>, the boy noted absently to himself - and caramel colored hair that looked slightly damp, which meant she'd probably showered recently.</p><p>Standing next to her was a man, and Alex had to force himself not to gasp when he took note of him and take a step away in fear, craning his head back to get a proper look at him. He was absolutely <em>huge</em>, and not just in the broad-shouldered and muscular sort of way he'd been expecting based on his file; the guy had to be like six and a half feet tall! </p><p>Dread curled in the pit of his stomach, he would never stand a chance against this man. </p><p>At least with Eric Williams he'd sort of been able to put up a fight. Not a very good one, mind you, but he hadn't been horribly outmatched right from the start like now, and that was before his injuries. Not only that, but Mr. Washington had been a military man for practically his whole life... if anyone would know how to hurt somebody, it would be him, no question about it.</p><p>"Mr. Washington, Mrs. Washington, it's so nice to see you again." Jessica greeted, setting down his belongings and shaking hands with the both of them. "I'm sorry we're running late, I didn't want to keep you up but I knew as soon as I saw the roads that we wouldn't get here as early as I'd originally hoped." she said apologetically. </p><p>The woman shook her head, smiling, "It's not a problem, Miss Summers, most of the time we're up this late anyways." she reassured, before elaborating when his case worker tilted her head, "I'm a registered nurse and a certified nurse midwife. Anytime I'm home early enough to go to bed at a decent hour, it's all but guaranteed that I'm being woken up at one or two in the morning because someone's water decided to break a week early and they're short-staffed at the hospital." </p><p>Jess laughed at Mrs. Washington's words, but Alexander found himself growing nauseous. </p><p>His new stepmother was a <em>nurse</em>; she could treat his injuries without ever having to bring him to an ER, could probably have him excused from school on her word alone so nobody would see his bruises; Hell, she could probably have him locked up in the loony bin if she wanted. They were out here in the middle of nowhere, meaning few neighbors to pry into their business or whether they were up to anything illegal. </p><p>He felt sick.</p><p>Suddenly, he felt Jess nudge him gently and looked up at her with wide, panicky eyes, silently pleading.</p><p><em>Please don't make me stay here with them</em>. <em>They're going to hurt me, can't you tell?</em></p><p>Her hand touched his back reassuringly, and her warm green eyes seemed to remind him to <em>breathe</em>, which he did, holding it and trying not to seem too obvious how scared he was. Turning from Jess to look up at the Washingtons, he forced his tongue to un-stick from the roof of his dry mouth, and whispered almost too quietly to be heard, "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Washington. My name is Alex Hamilton..." He swallowed and broke eye-contact quickly, hoping neither of them took his staring as a sign of disrespect. "...Thank you for... for having me."</p><p>The teen missed the raised eyebrow Martha gave him, and he only vaguely heard Jess talking to them. </p><p>He was sure she must have said goodbye to him, Alex felt the comforting arms around his thin shoulders and the reminder to call if he needed anything; she would be staying at a hotel nearby for the next few days and be back to check on him at least once before she had to return to the islands. Later, he could only vaguely recall any of this, because it felt like he'd floated out of his own body to watch what was happening like a spectator instead of a participant. </p><p>Next thing he knew, he was standing inside the Washingtons' home as they closed the door behind him, and was left with the sinking realization that he was alone with these two strangers. </p><hr/><p>George found his eyes unable to leave Alexander from the moment he had spotted him.</p><p><em>His son</em>.</p><p>Seeing the photograph Miss Summers had provided of the teen did not even <em>begin</em> to compare to seeing him in person for the first time. </p><p>If he hadn't resembled his parents before, up close he most certainly did.</p><p>Especially his mother; God, he even had her <em>eyes</em>. Rachel's eyes had been the most beautiful shade of violet-blue, sparkling with warmth and intelligence. He had always been captivated by how striking they were, and often compared them to the color of Larkspur, which was incidentally her favorite flower and the one representing her month of birth, July.</p><p>Alexander had her eyes, and her small build by the looks of it; he was somewhere between 5'3" or 5'4" in height, his facial features were quite similar to hers, which was <em>fortunate</em> for the boy and decidedly <em>unfortunate</em> for George, who was already imagining how easily the adolescent could weaponize Rachel's smile the same way Patsy (who was the spitting image of her mother) so cleverly had when she first realized how susceptible her stepfather was to it. His heart still ached thinking about the fiercely brilliant woman who had once owned his heart, but he had to admit... knowing a part of her lived on in the child they had brought into the world together soothed that pain somewhat. </p><p>That being said, for all of his remarkable likeness to his mother, Alexander was not without inheritance from his paternal side of the family. </p><p>His hair color was decidedly that of the Washington clan; he sported deep Autumn-fire auburn locks, which looked more chocolate brown than anything in the night, but he knew from the photos looked much brighter in the daylight hours. The boy's hair fell in soft waves several inches passed his ears. While it had clearly been a while since he'd had a haircut or even a trim, he seemed to take good care of it. He was rather fair for someone who'd spent his whole life in the Caribbean with his strawberries and cream complexion, but perhaps he just didn't go outside much? His childhood photos had shown him with tanned skin, so it was probably just since his hospitalization that he'd become so pale.</p><p>The boy was smaller than he'd expected, but also thin. Hadn't they been feeding him over there? Though, he supposed if he had been living in a hospital he wouldn't have had much of an appetite either...</p><p>Martha was ever-so-subtly looking the teen over, and he could only hope that Alexander had the same sweet tooth as his mother; his wife was a stress baker and she had been nervous (though not as much as himself) about meeting him, which had kept her busy on her days off the past couple of weeks since they'd gotten the news he would be coming to live with them.</p><p>What stood out the most was that his son seemed to be avoiding looking directly at him, or any of them actually. It could have been nerves; he occasionally met the gaze of his social worker, as if looking for reassurance, but after she had left he appeared to zone out. Maybe he was just very tired.</p><p>The boy stared blankly at a wall, only seeming to snap out of it when he was addressed directly. </p><p>"Alexander? Would you like to take off your jacket and shoes and join me in the kitchen for some hot cocoa? Have you had your dinner yet?" He blinked owlishly at Martha for a moment before his shoulders straightened and he started to shake his head before pausing as though remembering something, and then giving a small, hesitant nod. That... didn't really help. "Yes to the hot cocoa, or yes you've already ate?" she asked patiently; she could tell he was nervous. </p><p>He shifted his weight, glancing at him before quickly averting his gaze before the man could speak, "I... um, both, actually. I like hot chocolate, and... Jess and I stopped somewhere for pizza on our way here a couple of hours ago in Philly, ma'am." </p><p>She smiled, "Martha is fine, dear. I'll go get the saucepan heated up then while George shows you to your room, and then if you'd like to join me when you're ready you can." Giving him a long, reassuring look when his head jerked up, his wife turned and made her way towards the back of the house.</p><p>"Alexander?" His son tensed at being addressed. "Or do you prefer Alex?" </p><p>Wordlessly, the boy shrugged. </p><p>Perhaps he was shy; hadn't Miss Summers mentioned him having ADHD? He would have to look into the anxiety she'd spoken of, see if there was anything that could be done to put him more at ease. Then again, it was possible that this would something that would resolve itself as he became more comfortable to his new environment. George himself wasn't known for being overly outspoken, so he could hardly judge if the boy preferred to keep to himself. Bending down to pick up the teen's suitcase, he started to reach for the bag as well but Alexander jumped forward and snatched it up before he could touch it. "I-I've got it!"</p><p>George frowned slightly, "Are you sure?" </p><p>"Yes, Sir, it's no problem." He insisted, hoisting the straps over his shoulder and visibly trying not to grimace as he felt the weight of it against his back. </p><p>An awkward silence passed between the two. </p><p>"Well, alright then. Come with me and I'll show you where everything is. We prepared a room for you upstairs," He turned and didn't see the uncomfortable look on Alexander's face as he began following him up the stairs to the second floor; the staircase was unique and had been preserved as far back as the 18th century, if he recalled correctly, crafted out of black walnut wood, it had two intermediate areas which split the stairs into three 'sections', twisting so it started straight, broke off and inclined up to the right, and then broke off again to end up facing the opposite direction of the bottom stairs, giving it a sweeping appearance as it twisted into a graceful curve that kept the passage from being too narrow. They'd added carpeting over the stairs for Patsy's sake, a way to cushion the blow if she were to fall because... well, anyways...</p><p>Old-fashioned lantern replicas were built into the hallway and stair passage with modern technology, giving the illusion of candlelight on the walls. Black and white portraits of previous family members who'd lived in the house before him still littered the walls on the way up, but there was a touch of modern color in some of the artwork Martha had hung between them in an effort to 'brighten the place up'; his wife loved to decorate, and since he didn't care as much about the decor as he did the structure of the building, he told her do whatever made her happy with the spare rooms; she and Gilbert had bonded quite a bit over French furnishings and textiles.</p><p>George and his wife had built and remodelled certain sections of the house though, after his brother passed. It was a sort of side hobby of theirs; if he was the architect, she was the interior designer.</p><p>He noticed Alexander gripped the banister and seemed to be studying the stairs closely; he looked relieved. </p><p>Upon reaching the top, George paused as he waited for the young boy to catch up.</p><p>Originally the main staircase landing had led out to <em>five</em> separate bedrooms, but the tiny one which was no wider than a hallway had seemed hardly worth keeping. It had a single small window, no storage space, and originally, no heating until they'd added a vent. Since all the other bedrooms came with their own closet space, and the laundry room downstairs had its own linen closets, they hadn't seen the need to convert it into a closet. Eventually, they'd renovated the small space into a bathroom for the children, so they wouldn't have to share one with he and Martha, nor run downstairs in the middle of the night if they woke up. </p><p>Alexander stopped next to him and looked around at the closed doors. </p><p>"The others are sleeping right now, so you will have to settle for a less complete tour at the moment," he told him quietly, and the boy looked up at him quizzically. He gestured to the six doors visible on the second floor, specifically on the left side. The door on the northeast corner was the same polished wood as the staircase, but had a very intricate painting of an intertwined red rose and a stylized yellow iris (those were called <em>fleur-de-lis</em>, weren't they?) adorning it. "This is the Lafayette room." he chuckled quietly at the name, and Alexander gave him a confused look.</p><p>"Lafayette is the preferred name of our adoptive son and godchild, Gilbert. He has insisted we refer to the room as such since we moved him in with us." </p><p>"I... see." The boy still looked understandably confused. </p><p>"The door across from it is where my stepdaughter Patsy sleeps, it also connects the private secondary staircase that leads to Martha's and I's room, if there's ever an emergency, especially a medical one, Patsy has given full permission for anyone to cut through her room to get to us more quickly, just so you're aware." Her room was on the southeast side of the second floor, and had a light glittery pink and gold sticker stuck to the middle of the door that read <em>DREAMER</em> in curly girlish letters.</p><p>Alex cocked his head in confusion, "Do you... have a lot of emergencies?" he asked, somewhat hesitantly. </p><p>The man mulled over his answer for a moment, "Not often, but they do happen. This arrangement is mostly so the boys know they can get to us quickly if they need something. However, my stepdaughter does have a... condition." The teen just looked at him, expectantly, so he sighed, "Patsy suffers from Type 1 Diabetes, and while we are extremely careful about monitoring her insulin and blood sugar levels, she can sometimes—" </p><p>"Develop Hypoglycemia, causing her blood sugar to drop and sending her into a life-threatening diabetic seizure?" Alexander asked, and he stared at him. The boy flushed and dropped his gaze, "Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt! Ah, you spend a total of nineteen months in a hospital or clinic, you pick up on a few things." he quipped, sounding nervous again. </p><p>"I see. Well, you aren't wrong. But like I said, she very rarely has an incident these days, we're careful and Patsy knows to come to us if she has any concerns at all that something might be wrong, so you shouldn't need to worry about it. It's good that you're familiar with the condition though. She's excited to meet you." George told him, prompting a surprised expression from the teen. "Anyway, the door on the back wall next to Patsy's room is the bathroom, and the one next to Lafayette's leads upstairs. We mostly use those rooms for storage, although we have renovated one of them into a sort of living room for the kids if they want to bring friends over. That door leads to Jacky's room," he nodded at the door on the northwest corner which was covered in music logos and had a <strong>KEEP OUT</strong> caution sign. "The one across from it will be yours, are you ready?" </p><p>He moved to the last door on the southwest corner, and the only one not yet decorated, looking back at the boy.</p><p>Alexander took a deep breath and nodded.</p><p>Twisting the knob, George pushed the door open and stepped in, with the teenager shuffling in closely behind him. </p><p>A decent-sized bedroom, the walls were covered in a vibrant greenish-turquoise wallpaper with a floral sprig pattern, the trim on the ceiling and floor, along with the window frames and closet door, were all painted a cream color, the floor was a glossy wood, and a four poster mahogany bed sat against the far wall near one of the two windows (both on the side overlooking the vista and bowling green). Martha had gone into town on the weekend and purchased a few things to dress the room up a bit, including a handmade silk canopy and matching cotton quilt blanket she'd picked up at from a vendor at the local weekly artisan Night Market; both were a patchwork of multi-colored and patterned fabrics recycled from Indian <em>sarees</em>. A handful of Chintz patterned decorative pillows were neatly positioned on the head end of the bed, the partly closed canopy giving the bed a private sort of coziness. The overall room was old English architecture, but decorated with distinctly south and east Asian touches.</p><p>Soft yellow decorative lights were strung up around the ceiling, giving it a warm glow, those had been Patsy's contribution when they had cleaned out the old guest room in preparation for Alexander's arrival last week. </p><p>The original mantle and fireplace - a boldly carved piece with dramatic curves and spirals that was quite attractive looking, which was probably why his brother had left it in - had been left intact when they'd renovated, but they did build in an electric heater and block off the top of the chimney when installing the new heating/cooling system, which hadn't been updated since the 80s. It was for the better anyways, real fireplaces could wreck all sorts of havoc on your health, not to mention they both knew it would have been idiotic to let young teenagers have rooms where actual wood-burning fires were the only way to keep warm in the winter.</p><p>George liked their home <em>not</em> burned to the ground, thank you very much.</p><p>They hadn't done much with the room before learning of Alexander, really the only things they'd done aside from adding the heater, structure-wise, was add a ceiling fan for the summer time. There'd been a few small changes in appearance over the last week and a half for the boy's arrival; a fresh coat of paint to the trim, touching up the wallpaper where it had been damaged... </p><p>It looked a lot more modern now. The antique wardrobe that had dominated most of the north wall had been moved upstairs on Jacky's suggestion because “<em>teenage boys don't use wardrobes in the 21st century, Mom, this isn't Narnia.”</em> and they'd replaced it with a modern dresser, though it was still the same polished mahogany that matched the nightstand, bed frame and the chest at the foot of the bed. There was bamboo lamp on the nightstand, the shade was rectangular in shape, made of wood and a parchment like material and mimicked the look of Japanese tatami walls, with a cherry blossom design.</p><p>"I, uh, hope you don't mind the color scheme, we didn't have time to strip the wallpaper and paint it a more neutral color. Martha is always changing and redecorating the spare rooms in her free time; she's quite fascinated by early English and French styles..." he rubbed the back of his neck, looking around uncertainly. He didn't have the faintest idea of what teenage boys liked in their own personal space; Jacky's room was a disaster zone that no one but Martha dared to step foot into lest they get accused of touching his things or walk in on something they’d rather not see, he had dirty clothes scattered about more often than not, his TV stand jammed full of CDs and video games galore. He'd thought that was pretty typical of boys, until Lafayette came to live with them.</p><p>His godson was the exact opposite of Jacky; the aristocrat kept his room spotless once he'd learned that they didn't employ any maids to do so for them, it was open and welcoming, he kept snacks in his closet for when his friends would come over and was endlessly fussy about dirt and dust, every few days there was a different vase of brightly colored flowers adorning his bookshelf alongside the many French romance novels; Gilbert had completely changed any expectation he'd had of how teenagers were <em>supposed</em> to act.</p><p>Alexander was staring at the room with wide eyes, and George wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. "We can change it if you don't like it..."</p><p>His words snapped the boy out of whatever trance he had been in, and he shook his head, dropping his bag on the upholstered easy chair sitting near to the fireplace. "No! I mean, that’s not necessary... it's... <em>wow</em>." He breathed, quietly taking in the room as the man set the rest of his belongings down on chest at the end of the bed. "I like it a lot. It's cool. Very eclectic, um..." he turned in a circle. “This is all for me, really?”</p><p>Alexander looked up at him as of expecting the rug to be yanked out from under him, as though he’d shown him this room as part of some elaborate ruse. His gaze was suspicious. When he found no traces of humor in George’s face, the teen glanced away and took another breath.</p><p>The man saw something glisten on the boy’s cheek and realized with a swell of indescribable concern that he was fighting back tears. Was the decor too much? Or was he simply emotional due to the long trip and late hour? George knew he should have asked Martha to show him to his room instead; the soldier was never good with this sort of thing. He moved towards Alexander, alarmed by his crying, when his son looked about the room again and his shining eyes suddenly widened.</p><p>"Is that a secretary desk?!" His voice raised unexpectedly as he bounded over to the beautifully crafted mahogany Chippendale desk in the corner. The piece was older than George’s grandparents and still in excellent condition, even the bookcase atop the desk didn't have a single scratch on its glass doors. It had belonged to Martha's first husband, and she had brought it with her when they married, but hadn't used it since they'd cleared it out last spring. The teenager was immediately in front of it, running his hand over the smooth surface before suddenly freezing and pulling away from it, as though worried he would get in trouble. "Sorry."</p><p>"You don't need to be, it's <em>your</em> room now, Alexander." He walked over to him, pleased that he didn't look anywhere near as nervous as he had early. "I take it that you like to write?" Or perhaps he was just a fan of interior decorating, but he was fourteen so George was willing to bet his initial guess was the correct one.</p><p>The odds of him ending up with two sons with a penchant for such a hobby was unlikely.</p><p>Alex looked up with his blue-violet eyes bright and searching (was he worried about being judged for his interests?) and the man offered him a small smile, which seemed to relax the boy. "I-I love to write, actually; and read. Those are two of my favorite things." he said, his voice a bit more clear. </p><p>"Then I suppose it's a good thing we put this in here, huh?" he nodded at the desk.</p><p>"You mean you don't mind if I—" He ducked his head, his mouth lifting at the corners, "I mean... I suppose it is, Sir."</p><p><em>Sir?</em> That was the second time in less than half an hour that Alexander had referred to him that way.</p><p>Oh, that wouldn't do at all. He'd heard more than enough of it in his career and had exactly zero desire for his children to refer to him as such. "You don't have to call me Sir, son. I'm more than okay if you use my first name." He told him gently, assuming perhaps Alex wasn’t sure how to address him, given their relationship yet status as strangers.</p><p>The boy looked visibly startled by his words, or perhaps how he'd been addressed as <em>son</em>. Before either of them could question it, he heard Martha call out from the bottom of the stairs; not worried about waking the kids. Most of them could have slept through an earthquake, he was certain of. </p><p>"I think your hot chocolate is calling you. I'll, uh..." George suddenly found himself at a loss, unsure what to do now that he'd run out of things to tell Alex about the floor he would be staying on. Did he say goodnight to him? Hug him? Apologize for all that had happened in his short life? None of that seemed right, at least not yet, he didn't want to overwhelm the kid immediately after his arrival. "I'll see you in the morning, okay? We can talk more at breakfast after you meet the others. Don't... stay up too late, I know you probably slept on the flight or the ride and it'll take you a while to adjust, but if you decide to read or something, please do so quietly, the others went to bed not too long ago." </p><p>"Yes Si-uh... Mr. Washington." Alexander replied meekly, and his lips twitched a little.</p><p>He supposed it would take a while for them to adjust to one another.</p><hr/><p>When Alexander finished unpacking his things, being extra careful not to damage the desk as he placed the small collection of books he'd brought with him in the cabinet, trying to be as quick as he could about it, he headed downstairs, and began looking for the kitchen. </p><p>Since the others were asleep and the man had left him to settle in, he was on his own to find it. He stumbled upon a dining room, a spare bedroom (filled with a woman's things, he noted before immediately leaving in case he got in trouble), a piano room and a strange sitting room before eventually ending up in an even larger turquoise room with yet <em>another</em> piano in it, as well as a bunch of teal and white furniture and a large flat-screen HDTV. Just as he'd been about to give up and call out, he found the pantry door next to what he could only assume was Mr. Washington's office or something, since he could hear him on the phone. </p><p>He walked through the pantry and opened a door which... led outside? </p><p>Alexander found himself staring down the stretched length of one of the colonnades leading to one of those small outer buildings attached to the main house. It was warmer than he'd expected thanks to the fact that this one had been enclosed with glass windows, which confused him at first because weren't colonnades supposed to be open? He stared at the building and noticed a light on through the window, and he realized, suddenly feeling foolish, that the kitchen must have been in its <em>own building</em>. Duh, of course it was. This house was older than probably his great-grandparents, and rich folks back then didn't cook their own food, they had servants to do it for them. </p><p>The Washingtons' house was so big there'd probably been no real way to add an all new room to make into a kitchen without demolishing existing parts of the house, so they'd at some point enclosed the colonnade to give it privacy and warmth, and continued using the attached outbuilding for its intended purpose. That made sense.</p><p>He started to walk towards the building, unsure about his theory but knowing he'd checked everywhere for Mrs. Washington already. To his relief, he could smell chocolate wafting from nearby and followed the scent right into the kitchen. </p><p>By the time he got there he found Martha sitting at the table, thumbing through a magazine, and his legs were killing him from searching the house.</p><p>He opened his mouth to apologize for taking too long when she looked up.</p><p>"Ah, good, I see you found your way around just fine." She smiled and gestured to the seat across the table from herself, where there was a mug of steaming chocolate. He moved towards it, relieved to sit down again and unwilling to admit he'd gotten lost. Surprisingly found a bunch of items laid out in front of him; cinnamon, graham crackers, weird looking marshmallows and... wasn’t it still a bit early for <em>candy canes...?</em> </p><p>Seeing his perplexed expression, Martha's smile turned sheepish, "I wasn't sure how you liked your cocoa. The kids all like theirs a certain way and I didn't want to assume if you had any allergies or preferences, so I thought I would let you pick for yourself." </p><p>Oh! That was... actually really thoughtful. </p><p>He noticed the marshmallows were a pale green color, shaped like swirly lumps with sprinkles in them. </p><p>"Patsy made those. They're gluten free, she's been trying out different recipes for her friend Peggy, who has an intolerance to gluten." </p><p>"Celiac disease?" Alex asked softly, and she nodded at him. He reached for the bag, "May I...?" </p><p>"Of course." </p><p>He took one out of the bag and popped it in his mouth. It was really good, sweet but not overly so, more creamy than marshmallows typically were. it melted in that typically gooey pleasant way. He found himself grabbing a few more and dropping them in his hot chocolate. "Wow, these are really good!"</p><p>Martha beamed, "She'll be so happy to know you like them; her brother is too 'cool' to try new things." she said, and he snorted a laugh. </p><p>"Sounds like a normal teenager to me." He admitted, added a little milk to his drink before sipping it. Perfect. "Um... I'm sorry about earlier." </p><p>The woman tilted her head at him, "For being nervous?" He looked down, his face growing warm. "Alexander, you don't know any of us, of course you're nervous. That's to be expected. I can't say I know much about you, but I've seen enough of the foster care system to know kids more often than not don't have the best experiences in it early on, not unless they're exceptionally lucky." He winced and she reached out to pat his hand. "It's going to take some getting used to, honey. This will be a big change for all of us, but especially you and George." He was surprised she didn't just call him 'your father'. "A new house, new city, new family... You're allowed to feel out of sorts. Just... take some time to adjust, okay?" </p><p>Alex wiped the creamy chocolate foam off of his upper lip, swallowing, "Okay. Thank you, Mrs. Wa—" he saw her smiling at him and corrected himself, "—I mean, Martha. Um, you can... I mean if you want, you can call me Alex." he fidgeted and looked into his mug.</p><p>"If that's what you would prefer, Alex. Welcome home."</p><p>He still wasn't sure about it all, but the boy felt the knot in his stomach loosen somewhat.</p><p>Maybe he <em>could</em> get through this, after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>If you look up the room by room visuals/layout of the Mount Vernon estate on mountvernon.org you'll understand the layout of the house a lot better.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Day One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Mount Vernon Estate,<br/>
Fairfax County, Virginia</em><br/>
<em>November, 2017</em>
</p><p>That night, Alexander barely slept at all. </p><p>Instead he was awake until three in the morning, tossing and turning in his new bed, unable to get used to the room he was in; everything from the unfamiliar creaking of the house, to the different textures and the soft lavender scent of the detergent coming from the bed-sheets. He wished he could just doze off for a few minutes, but no matter how much he tried, sleep wouldn't seem to come.</p><p>How could it, knowing in the morning he would be introduced to his new foster.... uh, or was it step siblings? Whatever they were, realizing it would be inevitable that he would mess something up and they would probably hate him, judge him or ignore him for one reason or another was making his stomach churn. On the way there, he'd been nervously excited, but despite Mrs. Washington's best attempts to soothe him last night - and she <em>was</em> very kind, that wasn't the issue - he couldn't help how frightened he felt being alone in this new, huge house with no one he was certain that he could trust. </p><p>Alex felt the childish urge to call Jess, just so he could hear her voice and know he wasn't <em>completely</em> alone in this unfamiliar country, but he forced himself not to, it was quite late, and he didn't want to be even more of a bother.</p><p>If it had just been Mr. and Mrs. Washington, that <em>almost</em> would have been better, because at least then he could probably bury himself in schoolwork, or go to the library or even hide in his room, staying out of their way and hopefully avoid getting into trouble as long as he could, maybe manage to stay under the same roof for the next three years until he turned eighteen, whereupon he could leave and go wherever he wanted. But with other kids living in the house, he'd probably be expected to interact with them, and what if they turned out to be assholes like the Williams' children had been?</p><p>Wind howled outside his window and he cringed at the sound, tossing his blankets aside and climbing out of the bed, the cold wood panel floor beneath his feet making him shiver, and went to his suitcase, digging through it for his headphones. </p><p>He found them, and just as he was about to zip it back up he saw something that made him hesitate. </p><p><em>Octavian</em>.</p><p>Tucking his headphones under his arm, Alexander picked up the round, blue crocheted <a href="https://i.imgur.com/2peTY8l.jpg">stuffed octopus</a> toy, a hesitant smile on his lips as he flicked one of his multi-colored limbs.</p><p>It had been a long time since he slept with Octavian, who had been with him since he was just a baby, but he'd kept him all this time because his mother had made him just for Alex. He wasn't born yet when she started the project, and before he was a week old, the newly finished plush was in the crib with him.</p><p>Now that he was older, he had to admit... it looked more like a jellyfish than anything else, what with the perfectly round body and the fact that the limbs were curly; but there was only <em>eight</em> of them, and jellyfish had fifteen tentacles. So he was definitely an octopus, a slightly misshapen octopus but an octopus nonetheless. James had been given a crocheted shark similar to Octavian several years prior to Alexander's birth, who he'd named... Sharky.</p><p>No one could ever accuse him of being less creative than his brother, that was for sure. </p><p>As the winter winds rattled the glass window in his room, the teenager made his decision and flipped his suitcase shut before shuffling back into his bed with his beloved friend clutched against his chest. </p><p>Fully aware he wouldn't be getting to sleep as long as he could hear those winds, he slipped the headphones on and plugged them into his iPod, a gift Mr. Stevens had sent him on his birthday last year (which had been a shockingly emotional surprise; he'd figured the man had forgotten about him by then). It was red, 32 GB, and technically discontinued as of July which meant no more iOS updates, but he didn't care since he mostly used it for YouTube and music anyways. He didn't know the Washingtons' Wi-Fi password yet, so the boy opened the music app and shuffled the songs he already had downloaded, closing his eyes. </p><p><em>'Cause you can't jump the track, we're like cars on a cable,</em><br/>
<em>And life's like an hourglass, glued to the table</em><br/>
<em>No one can find the rewind button boys,</em><br/>
<em>So cradle your head in your hands, and </em> <em>breathe...<br/>
Just breathe...</em><br/>
<em>Whoa...</em><em>breathe, just breathe</em></p><p>He ended up falling asleep with Octavian tucked against his arm and the sound of Anna Nalick's voice playing in his ears. </p>
<hr/><p>When Alexander woke up the next morning, it was to the sound of someone banging on his bedroom door.</p><p>It took him a while to hear it, burrowed under the blankets as he was with only the top of his head poking out; it had turned freezing at some point and the teenage boy was left shivering even while wearing layers. </p><p>The boy was already not in the best of moods; he hadn't slept well, and on top of that he could feel his joints throbbing persistently, one of the reasons he'd kept waking up through the night. He wasn't sure if it was because he hadn't taken any of his pain meds since dinner the night before with Jess, or because for the first time in his life, November actually felt like the Novembers he'd always seen on TV; damp, cold, and unpleasant. He knew it would have an effect on him, he hadn't expected it to be like <em>this</em>. </p><p>Careful not to wrench anything, Alexander slowly sat up in his bed and listened. </p><p>"But <em>Maaaaartha...</em> I want to meet him! He might be asleep for hours, Je ne sais pas combien de temps je peux attendre!" A French accented male voice complained, rather loudly, on the other side of the door, and he blinked in surprise; someone was actually looking forward to meeting him?</p><p>That was new. </p><p>There was a pause, followed by Mrs. Washington's familiar, kind voice replying, "I know you're excited, Gilbert, but you have to remember he spent nearly two days travelling across the country to get here, and he may be suffering from jet lag. You need to give him time, he'll join us when he's ready." She said, and ironically that was one of the problems Alexander <em>didn't</em> need to worry about; the zones for Virginia (Eastern Daylight) and the USVI (Atlantic Standard) might have been different, but the time ended up being the same, so at least his body wouldn't need to adjust to an all new internal alarm clock. Just a vastly different climate than what he was used to.</p><p>He heard the talking outside of his room drift away as the two presumably left, and the teenager waited a few more seconds, just to be safe, before sliding out of the bed, a shock of cold shooting through him when his feet touched the ground, and he winced as his knees and hips ached in protest. One look at the window told him his suspicions had been correct; there was a fine white sheet of snow on everything. He supposed <em>that</em> could have been the reason for the fierce winds last night.</p><p>Alexander tried to muster up some excitement, but all he felt was a pang of melancholy; he'd never seen snow (in person at least) before yesterday when they'd arrived in New York.</p><p>Shuffling over to the dresser he'd dumped all of his clothes in last night, the fourteen-year-old changed out of his pajamas as quickly as he could, pulling on a pair of thermal cotton socks (<em>not</em> the fuzzy kind, any kind of texture with a 'scratchy' quality to it made him feel like he could claw his own skin off in aggravation from the itch), a pair of slightly worn gray jeans, a Navy blue button up and and an over-sized warm red hoodie that Jess had given him for the flight with deep pockets he could shove his hands into if they got cold.</p><p>Alexander paused to check his reflection in his iPod camera, and though he knew he probably should have done something more with his hair than just comb it, since it was getting rather long, he liked the fact it curtained his face if he ducked his head or gave him something to fiddle with when he felt uncomfortable. Hair down day it was. Hopefully he could still make a good impression on his new family even with his lackluster appearance. </p><p>He saw the handle of his cane sticking out of his suitcase and made a face, quickly kicking the luggage underneath his bed and out of sight. The last thing he needed was them knowing about that on his first day with them, he didn't need anymore pity; maybe if the other kids weren't complete jerks he could actually make a good impression and have some friends for once. </p><p>Cautiously pulling open the bedroom door, he peeked around the edge of the frame to find everyone else's doors open, their occupants apparently vacant.</p><p>It would be a lie to say he hadn't huffed a sigh of relief before making his way to the bathroom to take care of his morning needs, washing his hands and brushing his teeth afterwards. </p><p>"Here goes nothing..." the boy murmured to himself, already cringing at how unenthusiastic he sounded.</p>
<hr/><p>Normally, Martha only made pancakes for special occasions. </p><p>Lafayette knew this, because she made them for breakfast on Christmas morning, and for birthdays too, and especially if one of them had something school related they were especially proud of. Her chocolate chip pancakes were absolutely delightful. He also knew this, because she had made them for him, on his first day at Mount Vernon after his parents - friends of the Washingtons since before he was born - died. </p><p>So it only made sense that bringing another child into their home meant she would want to make him feel welcomed. </p><p>At first, he'd been apprehensive. </p><p>This child was George's biologically, that was something neither he, nor Jacky nor Patsy or even Sarah, who was an actual blood relative of his, could lay claim to. He was just their godson, after all. It had weighed on the French native's mind for days, wondering if they would soon be forgotten and dismissed now that the man had what they all knew deep down he had wanted but believed himself incapable of having. </p><p>However, as the day of Alexander's arrival grew closer and closer, that fear and insecurity had melted into something more akin to excitement. None of the others in the house were as close to his age as this boy was; Lafayette had just turned fifteen, and his future adoptive brother was going to be fifteen in less than two months. Patsy was two years younger than him, and Jacky at nearly seventeen, while nice enough, simply wasn't someone he had a lot in common with, either in terms of personality or maturity level. Outside of Hercules, John and Thomas at school he didn't have a whole lot of friends or even acquaintances, really, so this was actually an opportunity in disguise. </p><p>Thus far, Martha and George had been elusive of this Alexander Hamilton's past, only telling him that he had been through a lot and that his mother and most of his family were dead (already something they had in common, it seemed) and that he was George's son whom they'd just learned about. He didn't know what to expect from such little information provided, but he got the feeling that the Washingtons also had no idea what to expect, so perhaps they were in the same boat in that regard.</p><p>He tapped his foot anxiously on the floor and poured syrup on his pancakes, his eyes kept glancing towards the doorway nearest to the staircase. </p><p>"Gilbert, please try to relax, it's good you're looking forward to meeting him but if you work yourself up too much you'll just make it overwhelming for the both of you." George said from the table, skimming through the morning paper, while sipping his morning coffee. It was such a fatherly thing to be doing, you could almost forget this man was a decorated Army veteran, and not just any dad pulled off the street. He wondered if George was trying to play it calm because he was nervous as well.</p><p>Suddenly, the squeak of the stair banister alerted them all to another presence, and a minute or two later, a short young boy drowning in a red hooded sweater stepped into the dining room, walking in an awkward, shuffling sort of way with his head down. He could make out shaggy strands of reddish-brown hair and that was about it. This was Alexander? He hadn't expected him to be so... <em>small</em>, not at almost fifteen.</p><p>"Good morning, Alex, did you sleep well?"</p><p>The teenager slowly lifted his head and Lafayette tilted his own in response, taking in the now uncovered face; pale skin and vivid blue eyes lined by dark bruise-like shadows. He looked tired; and the older boy felt a moment of guilt. Perhaps he shouldn't have awoken him; Martha was right, he probably needed more rest. </p><p>"I slept okay." Alexander replied softly, lingering in front of the table with a hesitant expression.</p><p>Martha could clearly sense his unease, because she passed by and gave his shoulder a quick, gentle squeeze, one that the others didn't even pick up on by the looks of it, "I'm glad to hear that. Please have a seat, we were just getting ready for breakfast; do you like pancakes, Alex?" He sunk into one of the chairs not currently occupied and kept his eyes down, giving a slight nod. There was a nervous energy radiating off of him. </p><p>"Oh, right, you're probably waiting for us to introduce you."</p>
<hr/><p>Alexander could <em>feel</em> the Washingtons' eyes on him.</p><p>Well, George at least was polite enough not to make it obvious, his eyes more or less trained on his newspaper, only glancing occasionally in his direction. </p><p>"This is our son, Jacky," she gestured to a teenage boy around seventeen or eighteen years old with dark brown curls and his mother's hazel eyes.</p><p>He was tall and tanned, looking sporty but laid-back with his gaze not leaving his phone until Mr. Washington cleared his throat to get his attention. Sighing, he set his phone down and jabbed his fork into one of the chocolate chip pancakes Martha had plopped down onto his plate, "Hey, my name's John, you can call me Jack though, if you want."</p><p>"Uh, hi." </p><p>"And this is Patsy."</p><p>The young girl sitting beside her brother was a couple of years younger than him, fair skinned with lighter hair than Jacky and Martha, closer to golden than brown, and baby blue eyes, but other than that her facial features were unmistakably similar. She was kind of small for her age, in his opinion; but then, who was he to judge in that regard? "Hello," he told her.</p><p>A shy smile graced the girl's face and she gave a wave and ducked her head.</p><p>Martha's hands went to the shoulders of the boy who looked to be about his age, but much taller; he had long braided dark cinnamon brown hair and a tanned complexion, and dark hazel-green eyes with honey colored rings around the pupils. He was dressed casually but there was something almost militaristic about the way he sat; head up, shoulders back, making eye contact without hesitation, "And this is—"</p><p>"Marie-Joseph Paul Yves Roch Gilbert du Motier Washington, Marquis de La Fayette, Lord of Chavaniac, at your service." He introduced himself with an obnoxiously long title, the French accent rolling off of his tongue as he held out his hand, and Alexander couldn't help but wonder if the older boy was hoping to either impress or intimidate him with that name; if anything he felt bad for how long it must take him to sign his name on his homework. Next to him, Jacky snorted. "But you can call me Lafayette, everybody does." Yes, he was definitely being sized up.</p><p>"<em>Gilbert</em>." Martha scolded lightly.</p><p>Well, two could play at that game. Alex stared at his hand, before looking up at him, "Si vous êtes attendez que je vous embrasse la main, vous pouvez l'oublier." He told him, and Lafayette's hand dropped, his expression shocked. Everyone else looked surprised as well; even Jack had taken his gaze off of his phone. "Je pensais que le Français avait supprimé les titres nobles en 1789 et 1848."</p><p>"Vous pouvez parler Français?" Lafayette asked him, before looking around and realizing the others were still staring, mostly in confusion. "Actually, France reinstated titles in 1852 and they have not been abolished by any official law since. However, you're right in that it is more honorary than anything now, the families that have kept them do so generally for sentimental purposes, as my parents did; it was the name of a Revolutionary War hero that my family has idolized since."</p><p>Alexander nodded, "My maternal grandfather was from France, Doctor John Faucette; he graduated from the University of Paris so he was bilingual and taught it to my mother, and she spoke it to me from the day I was born."</p><p>"Can you speak any other languages besides English and French?" He asked curiously. </p><p>'Fluently?" The fourteen-year-old asked, uncertainly, and the other boy nodded, prompting him to bite his lip. Well, it seemed like he wasn't going to be able to hide his innate <em>nerdiness</em> for very long. "Yeah, um..." He was able to speak in more than a few languages, actually, but Alexander could still feel the weight of everyone looking at him, and while he was normally quite proud of his intellect, he found himself losing his ability to channel that with all of them watching. "I'm comfortably multilingual, I guess you could say. Where I grew up there were a lot of people who spoke English, Spanish, French and Dutch, plus some Irish, Scottish and Danish speakers on the surrounding islands. I can understand most of it without an issue so long as the dialect doesn't vary too far from what I know. I also like to learn about other cultures in my free time, and they say it's easier to pick up on new languages the younger you are, so..." he shrugged awkwardly.</p><p>Martha smiled brightly as she set Alex's plate down in front of him, steam still wafting off of the chocolate chip pancakes. "That's wonderful to hear, education is very important indeed, and so is learning about the rest of the world; don't you agree Jacky?" she asked, and her son gave a noncommittal hum in reply, still messing with his cell phone. "Anyways, Miss Summers told us you would prefer to return to school as soon as possible?"</p><p>The boy glanced up, hesitantly, and gave a slight nod, "Yes, ma'am." </p><p>He was worried; would he be <em>allowed</em> to attend school? </p><p>"Well, we have some sort of good news, in that case. We spoke over the phone a few days ago to the superintendent of the Alexandria City Public Schools division, Dr. Benjamin Franklin, who's a friend of ours. He advised we not enroll you until after the winter break, which begins on December 21st and ends after New Year's Day." The boy's face fell slightly; Gilbert surmised that he must have enjoyed school quite a bit to look so disappointed at the prospect of not going until the start of next year. "That being said, if you'd like he implied that he would be willing to have the teachers email us some work from the term that you weren't present for, it could help you learn the material ahead of time and count towards your grade retroactively."</p><p>He mulled it over for a bit, glancing between George and Martha, and not detecting any traces of hostility, decided to shoot for honest and hope he said the right thing. "Well, I <em>would</em> really like to be enrolled as soon as possible, but being able to catch up to where the other students are over the break doesn't sound terrible..." Besides, if school here was anything like back home, he was guessing they probably didn't do a whole lot of 'real' work leading up to Christmas, it was presumably rather laid back as they prepared for the break. "I realize I'm behind in my schoolwork by about half a year, but the headmistresses at... um, where I was staying before, made sure I kept up with my studies, so I figured it would be easy enough to complete old assignments on weekends or during lunches if the teachers would be willing to allow it; I really don't want to be held back a year." He admitted, just missing the confused looks the other children exchanged as they wondered why he hadn't been in school in so long. "I don't have a laptop, though, is there a library nearby?" </p><p>"Closest one is seven miles away via the US-1 N, in Alexandria." Lafayette told him, and the boy visibly deflated. "But George and Martha have a desktop computer in the parlor for research, including a printer." he added, looking at his two guardians. "I'm sure you can use it for homework as long as you follow the rules." </p><p>"Yeah, like not using it to look at videos on PornHub." Jack said.</p><p>The French boy choked on his breakfast, while Alex turned scarlet, his eyes going wide.</p><p>"I told you I <em>didn't</em> do that!" Lafayette yelled at the same time as the new arrival blurted, mortified, "I <em>wouldn't</em> do that!"</p><p>"Jacky, that's enough! Gilbert, dear, don't try to talk with your mouth full. Alex, you're absolutely welcome to use the computer in the parlor, at least until we can get you a laptop of your own. We'll get you set up on a new account later on." Martha told him. "Now, no more questions while you eat, there will be plenty of time to get to know Alexander later." </p><p>A couple of mumbled agreements followed her words. </p><p>Feeling a bit overwhelmed, Alex shot her a grateful look and turned his attention to his rather aromatic breakfast, the buttery, warm vanilla-scented steam wafting through the air. <em>Oh</em>. On his plate was a tall, golden stack of fluffy looking golden pancakes, speckled with chocolate chips and topped with a silky pat of rapidly melting butter, and maple syrup streaming over the top and down the sides, pooling on the plate. They looked like something out of one of those lifestyle magazines, too pretty to eat almost. As he cut off a piece and popped the fork into his mouth, he caught sight of Martha watching him out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>Holy shit. </p><p>"Ils sont délicieux, non?" The other boy, Lafayette, asked with a grin, seeing the expression on his face. </p><p>Okay, so it wasn't just Alexander imaging it after experiencing St. Raphael's generous but only decent cooking for the last while; Mrs. Washington was apparently just <em>that good</em>. "An understatement, actually. I would have gone with incredible or unbelievable." He admitted, looking down when the woman beamed at him in delight. </p><p>"Another flatterer in the house, I see."</p><p>Did it count as flattery if it was true?</p><p>Well, at least she seemed happy that he liked it.</p><p>In spite of Alex being absolutely convinced that he could never <em>possibly</em> finish the entire stack without surgically removing some less vital organs to make room for more stomach, he somehow managed to clear the plate in the end. It helped that every time he felt like he was going to burst, Lafayette asked for seconds (thirds?) and he didn't feel bad for eating so much in comparison. Seriously, where did that kid put it all? He swore tall people were just bottomless pits. </p><p>By the time the dishes were being all but licked clean by his new siblings, the teen felt almost too full, but not in the unpleasant kind of way. Unfortunately, he didn't get to enjoy that feeling for long, because he could feel a familiar pain starting to creep up through his legs from sitting in the wooden dining room chairs. </p><p>As Martha began to clear the table, Alex jumped at the opportunity to get up and stretch. </p><p>He stood up before anyone else could, fought off the urge to wince by stretching inconspicuously, and began to stack and collect the plates as she loaded the utensils into the dishwasher, "Oh, thank you, Alex."</p><p>"It's the least I could do after your awesome breakfast," he said with a faint grin. Chores, the ones he could do anyways (getting onto his knees and scrubbing floors was a little out of the realm of possibility for him) were never something he saw as a great burden. He'd always helped his mother out, and the Woods family and the Stevens' for the short time he lived with them. By the time he got to S.R.H.H. they didn't even need to ask him to help, he was just glad to pay someone back for all the help he'd been getting for free. </p><p>"You're sweet." She told him, "Oh, by the way, Miss Summers left us something for you, I'll give it to you after we finish cleaning up, okay?" </p><p>He shot Martha a confused look, "Um... okay?" </p><p>Soon, the crowded table of kids scattered as Jacky went somewhere without him noticing, the French boy said something about calling his friend and Patsy seemed to slip away even more quietly (she seemed a bit shy to him). Eventually, George folded up his newspaper under his arm, coffee cup in his right hand, and passed by them to kiss Martha quickly on the cheek. "I have some business I need to take care of in the study, I'll see you in a bit." </p><p>The man glanced at Alexander and, at first, the teenager thought maybe he was uncomfortable with showing affection to his wife when someone was watching. He realized that was not the case when the former General reached towards him with his left hand, for the briefest of seconds, as if planning to grab his shoulder or something. The boy's heartbeat quickened; had he done something wrong?</p><p>He tensed, bracing himself for a blow to the face.</p><p>George's hand dropped to his side and he gave Alex an uncertain look, nodded at him, and then in the blink of an eye he was gone.</p><p>What the heck was that about?</p><p>As soon as the room was empty, Martha shut the dishwasher, even though it wasn't filled yet, and reached up into the cupboard above the double sink. </p><p>"Mrs... Martha?" he caught himself, recalling her reminders to address her by her first name.</p><p>There was a familiar rattling sound and he looked up in time to see her retrieve a white paper bag with a pharmacy logo printed on the side. His medication. "Oh... that's what you meant." </p><p>"I noticed you were shifting in your chair a lot, and no teenage boy jumps up <em>that</em> quickly to volunteer to clear the table without being asked, regardless of how polite he is." She told him, her tone light and amused. "Are you in a lot of pain right now?" </p><p>He hesitated to answer, wondering if his choice of response would effect her decision to give him his meds.</p><p>Eventually, he decided she wasn't the type of woman to do that, and decided to reply honestly, "It's bearable right now, I guess." </p><p>"Mm, that's still not good. Run me through which ones you take and when?" She asked, which surprised him; she was a nurse, she could've probably found out herself or just called Jess. Did she actually trust him to tell the truth? The look in her eyes told him yes, and suddenly, Alex found himself unconcerned with what she would think of his problems, at least the physical ones. Nurses thus far had been some of the most compassionate people he'd known... and he obviously couldn't hide his issues from <em>all</em> of them, not when he had to take pills.</p><p>Alex took a deep breath, "I take the 27mg of Concerta with breakfast every morning, and the 40mg of OxyContin twice a day; they're slow release so the morning one lasts throughout the day and the one in the evening helps me sleep at night, I'm not supposed to skip a dose even if the pain is barely there because of possible withdrawal effects. If my pain is unusually severe on a particular day I am allowed to take Aspirin or another NSAID between the Oxy doses as long as I don’t do it too often without talking to the doctor and follow the instructions carefully; they don’t interact with each other but too much can cause lithium toxicity.” He said, reciting what he knew from his memory.</p><p>“Um, the 60mg of Duloexetine aka Cymbalta I usually take an hour or two after dinner. I never time it exactly because the nurses always reminded me." Alex admitted. “Also, because Cymbalta is also taken to treat chronic pain, I never actually use the Aspirin all to often even though I'm technically allowed; it’s not nearly as effective compared to what I’m on now and I prefer not to take anything more than what’s prescribed to me, if I can avoid it.”</p><p>Martha nodded at his words, her face absent of judgement, turning two of the bottles over in her hands, and then she popped it open, retrieved a small round orange pill from one, and a gray oblong-shaped one from the other, handing them both to him. "Here, let me get you some water, don't swallow those dry." She'd seen him raising his hand to his mouth. He gave a sheepish grin and lowered it. </p><p>As soon as the water was in his hand, he took them both at once. </p><p>"So, what do you want to do now?" she asked, and at his deer-in-headlights expression, she added, "It's not a trick question. I was just wondering what you'd like to do on your first day. I would give you a more complete tour of the property, but you'll need a warmer jacket and some boots before we can do that, plus I have a feeling George is going to want to show you the outside property himself." Martha said, which confused him. Why would Mr. Washington want to do that? Unless he needed help maintaining it or something... "Gilbert is probably going to start marathoning his favourite Christmas movies soon, so consider yourself warned. You could go check out the library?" </p><p>That got his attention, "But... your son said..." </p><p>"I was referring to our library, not the one in the city." </p><p>He stared at her, excitement growing, "You have a library in your house?"</p><p>"It's your house too, Alexander. Would you like me to show you to it?" she asked, and, now completely focused on the prospect of getting his hands on some new reading material, the teenage boy nodded quickly, causing her to grin. "Well, you’d better go put a jacket on, you’re shivering. Not surprising considering the differences in our climates, but I’d recommend it anyway, the library can be a bit chilly in the winter, and it’s 28.4 degrees right now.”</p><p>Alexander looked at her in confusion, “You mean... in Fahrenheit?”</p><p>”Yes, why? Oh, do they not use—“ The boy shook his head and she went ‘ahh.’ “I see, I hadn’t realized the Virgin Islands used Metric. So that would be about -2 degrees Celsius for you.” She said, and Alex’s eyes bulged.</p><p>No wonder he was freezing!</p><p>”Yeah, I think you’re right about that jacket.” He agreed before hurrying out of the dining room to go get his coat off of the hook near the entrance.</p><p>Alexander pulled his coat on and zipped it up before he turned to go back to Martha, but he saw Lafayette standing on the first landing of the staircase, watching him curiously. He tilted his head at the other male questioningly, but the older boy merely turned and headed up the remainder of the stairs, leading him to wonder what he'd done to prompt such a look from him. Maybe he shouldn't have shown off his ability to speak and understand French.</p><p>Silently hoping he hadn't already managed to offend someone in his new home, he re-joined Martha in the kitchen and they stepped out into the crisp morning air. </p><p>"What kind of books do you have?" he asked as she led him to one of the other outbuildings. </p><p>"You'll see..."</p><p>They trudged silently through the snow for a while, Alex shivering whenever a biting gust of wind blew right down his jacket and into his body. </p><p>Suddenly, she stopped, and by that point he was no longer in pain, but he did feel numb with the cold from the waist down. He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked up, "Mrs Washington? Err, uh, I mean Martha? Everything okay?" He followed her gaze and felt his breath catch in his throat at the sight of the large, <a href="https://connection.media.clients.ellingtoncms.com/img/photos/2013/10/04/AX100213-500_t670.jpg?b3f6a5d7692ccc373d56e40cf708e3fa67d9af9d">three story building</a> made of stucco, stone and glass. "Wait, that whole building is the library? How is that possible?" </p><p>"It's a complicated story, Alex. But your father... he takes education very seriously, mostly owed to the fact that he had to fight his own mother tooth and nail to be permitted to <em>have</em> one." He looked up at her, half in surprise because it was the first time he'd heard her call George his... <em>that</em>, and also in question, because what parent wouldn't want their kid to go to school? "She's very old fashioned, you see. When George's father passed, he left a sizable amount of property to all of his children, including those by his first wife. George was very close with his older half brothers, he idolized them even, Lawrence especially. But his mother thought he should be working, it was a mindset passed along to her. Neither she, nor her parents or their parents were able to finish school, they had to work. She thought George ought to do the same and provide for his family."</p><p>"But he was just a little boy!" Alexander protested, outraged. </p><p>He had read enough about his biological father to have learned his own father passed away when he was <em>eleven</em>. Who on Earth in the 21st century thought eleven-year-olds needed to quit school to work? Sure, he had gotten his job with Mr. Cruger around the same age (and gotten in trouble for it as well), but even in his misguided attempt to be less of a burden to his cousin and brother, Alex had never considered dropping out of school to do so. Education was so important and he knew his mother would have <em>never</em> forgiven him if he'd quit. She probably would have crawled out of her grave to lecture him if he'd even considered it.</p><p>"Yes he was, but so were his parents and grandparents at one point. George refused to quit school, although he did do odd jobs around the neighborhood in an attempt to appease his mother, their relationship became strained nonetheless. Ever since he has deeply cherished the belief that everyone needs to value the benefits of a proper education." </p><p>Alex stared up at the building, "I still don't understand..." </p><p>"Well, this building here, before it was renovated, was where he'd come to study in between tending to the animals and planting, it holds a special meaning to him. So when he inherited a large collection of scholarly books and first edition novels from his mentor upon his death, he renovated it to house them, and the collection just keeps growing - it's open to anyone in the family, and friends too. It's not the happiest story, George's childhood wasn't easy despite his father's wealth, but if he can encourage anyone else to foster a love of learning, he will. He's always helping Gilbert and Jacky with their homework, reading to Patsy..." </p><p>Suddenly, the boy felt uncomfortable, "Martha, I appreciate you telling me all this, but... you know you don't have to convince me he's a good person right? I mean, I read about him, everybody talks about what a hero he is online." </p><p>"Do you care what they think?" </p><p>The question caught him off guard, and he gave a shrug, feeling awkward for having brought it up when, he had to admit, he didn't intend to base his opinion on the man based on what others saw in him. "Well, I guess not..." </p><p>Martha smiled softly and touched his shoulder, "Alex, I don't expect you to see George as your father immediately. These things take time and I realize that you don't actually know any of us. I know he's quiet, and difficult to read." She glanced at the library again and her mouth twitched at the unintentional pun. "Just give him a chance, that's all I can ask of you. He wants to form a bond with you, but he's never been very good at expressing his emotions overtly. Don't judge him too harshly if he isn't what you expected, okay?"</p><p>Alex looked at her and nodded slowly, feeling numb from more than just the cold when she squeezed his shoulder and ushered him into the building as the snow began to fall again; at that moment he was unable to tell her what he really thought. </p><p>
  <em>I'm more afraid I'm the one who's going to disappoint everybody... again. </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Today I learned that the United States is one of the only major countries that doesn't use Celsius over Fahrenheit? I didn't know that before. My country, Canada, switched in 1975 (I didn't know that either, I looked it up) which is weird because as a kid I could've sworn when my mother would take my temperature the reading would be in Fahrenheit. Ah, whatever. Either way, I apologize if I messed up the conversion, I've never had to use specific temperatures in stories before!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Friendship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>"I'm John Laurens." The impossibly stunning boy introduced himself with a gorgeous crooked grin that nearly made him go weak at the knees. "You're Alex, right?"</p><p>"Ah... um, uh-huh." He said, or something equally intelligent.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I'm sorry this took so long, my muse for writing took a nose dive for a while but it's picking back up again. </p><p>Alex starts making friends in this chapter! In the next chapter - some much needed (awkward) father/son time between George and Alex. Let's see how that turns out!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Dear Mom,</em>
</p><p>
  <em>It's different here than I thought it would be. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>For one, we're not in a city at all. As it turns out, <strike>George</strike> <strong><strike>my father</strike></strong> <span class="u">Mr. Washington</span> lives on a large agricultural estate in the rural part of Northern Virginia. Did you know that he came from a family of farmers? I certainly didn't. Apparently he inherited the property from a relative after they passed away. I don't know the specifics, but his wife lets details slip here and there when we speak, although she hasn't said exactly how he came into such a fortune. I mean, statistically I do know; according to the United States Department of Agriculture, Virginia alone raked in $3,576,417,000 worth of food last year, but I don't know the actual story behind his inheritance. His family has probably been doing this for generations so it's not that much of a shock, it just seems like... a lot for one person to own, you know? Especially compared to the little farms back home on Christiansted!</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Well, it's not like it's any of my business anyways, I know by now to mind myself around strangers. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hmm. I'd never really thought of my father as a 'stranger' to me before. Logically I'm aware that that's what he is, I could probably sum up everything I know about him as a person in under five hundred words, though there's ample information available about him on the Internet, mostly regarding his military career. If you were here you'd be telling me to give the man a chance and get to know him beyond what is required of basic courtesy... if you were here you would want us to 'bond'.</em>
</p><p><em>But you're <strong>not</strong> here, and that idea sounds all well and good in theory, but I'm still hesitant. </em> <em>It's not that he's intimidating, which he is, I'll freely admit that. I'm fairly certain that man is taller than some of the houses back on the islands.</em></p><p>
  <em>Although I haven't been here for even a week, I've yet to hear him raise his tone higher than a quiet speaking voice; he certainly isn't the most talkative fellow around. He also hasn't laid a finger on either myself or any of the other kids - that is to say, Jack, Gilbert and Patsy (though I'm certain the former two would resent being referred to as kids) - or threatened to, not even once. I suppose it's possible that the Washingtons don't believe in any sort of corporal punishment, which for a family headed by a former military general is surprising, but I'd expected to at least have some indication of their parenting style by now. As far as I can tell at the moment, Mrs. Washington is the more active in domestic tasks, although I'm not sure how she manages it with a full time job as a nurse; her husband on the other hand is either in his office, or out in the fields, which I've yet to see thus far. Overall they seem like good people, insofar that I can judge them after such a short period, that's not the reason for my distance.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>No, the reason I'm unsure about taking steps to form a bond with the man is, well, why would I want to waste my time? </em>
</p><p><em>I</em> <em> know it sounds selfish, but I really don't want to put the effort into impressing or earning the attention and affection of someone who is inevitably going to leave me. After Dad, <strike><strong>you</strong></strike> and Peter and Uncle James, it was hard enough even allowing myself to extend a tiny bit of hope to the prospect of having a family again. Cassie and Joey were wonderful people, and against my inclinations they wormed their way into my heart. They convinced me it was okay to love them, that I wasn't going to betray your memory by moving forward. They convinced me to mourn at Aunt Jem's funeral when I felt like I had no more tears in me to cry for lost family members. They really did care for me like I was their own son. I'll always be grateful for the parts of me that they helped to heal.</em></p><p>
  <em>But then they left too. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I know it was foster care. I know nothing is ever permanent or guaranteed in The System, I know legally they weren’t able to bring me with them, but I shut down after that. I was so angry that they didn't take us, no matter how difficult it would have been. All I knew was that I had begged them to take Jamie and I with them and they refused. When they had to pry me from Cassie's arms I promised I would never care for a parent again after that. And I haven't. The Williams family can rot for all I care, and the Snyders' were not much better emotionally even if they never laid a hand on me. Thomas Stevens was... <span class="u">is</span> a good, kind man. He still sends me cards and gifts on my birthday. But he wasn't my father. More like an uncle or a teacher, and one I cared for very much. But I was with them for such a short time I never had the chance to grow very attached to anyone but Ned. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is new to me, Mom.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>I'm not sure I know <strong>how</strong> to be a son anymore. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Even if I figure it out, should I bother? They'll just leave too, at some point. It's awful but if I'm to take anything from past experiences it's that everyone I love dies or leaves one way or another. Even Jamie left of his own volition, which shows how much he cared in the end. Why should this time be any different? I should just make it easier on myself and not form any close attachments here, then it will hurt less when they’ve had enough of me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Who knows when it will happen. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Maybe not 'til I'm eighteen and they can legally get rid of me without being harassed by Children's Services for it or feel like bad people for giving up, or maybe in a month or so when the snow and ice turns this place into a frozen wasteland and I'm in so much pain they'll realize I have no chance at being a 'normal' child in their picturesque lives. Let's face it, what <span class="u">good</span> am I to anyone? I can't work and probably won't ever be able to without multiple costly surgeries first, legally I'm disabled so even if I physically could I'd likely not be hired for that reason alone, and mentally who the fuck even knows anymore (sorry, I know you hate cussing). I don't think Mr. Washington has requested my full file from Jess yet - or perhaps he simply hasn’t had the time to read it, because his wife still only gives me my medication once everyone else has left the room, which I doubt she would bother if they were aware of the extent of my problems. Maybe once he finds out I was sent to him damaged he'll send me away to a boarding school where I won't cause him problems. We have different surnames so no one would even know we were related. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>That's probably the best I can hope for.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>As for the children... I suppose I should at least attempt to befriend them, shouldn't I? Who knows, they might turn out to actually be decent people, like Ned and his siblings were. Or they could be monsters. The French boy, Lafayette, seemed like a bit of a snob at first but when we do speak he's very polite, and his positive attitude is... endearing. Maybe I'll try him first. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I don't really have anything else to say right now, but I'll try to write again soon. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Goodnight. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>Love Always, Your Son Alexander.</em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>Mount Vernon Estate,<br/>
Fairfax County, Virginia </em><br/>
<em>November, 2017</em>
</p><p>Everyone in the Washington family seemed to march to the beat of their own drum, so to speak. </p><p>It was the middle of the week, so in the day time he was often left to his own devices as the only kid in the house; Patsy, Jack, and Gilbert ('Lafayette' the boy insisted on being called) all had school during the day, which he was not yet able to attend. So, by nine o'clock in the morning he was usually alone with just Martha and George. The fourteen-year-old found <em>that</em> more nerve-wracking than having to introduce himself to his new siblings. They seemed nice enough, but he just... didn't know how much he trusted them. </p><p>Fortunately, he found a sanctuary in the safe, warmly-lit walls of the Washingtons' private library. </p><p>Knowing he had somewhere to go other than his room offered him some measure of comfort; he got up, had breakfast while making somewhat awkward small talk with the man and woman, sometimes bumping into Jack as he slowly made his way out the door despite already running late, and helping tidy up. Almost immediately after that he took to hiding away among the tall stacks of numerous books from all different eras. That wasn't to say he spent all day doing nothing but reading.</p><p>He showered almost daily, just to enjoy the fact that he could do so without having it scheduled; although he had been annoyed and embarrassed the first time to discover a removable mobility bench tucked in the bathroom. Initially he'd believed Martha had put it there just for his sake, something he did not want to draw attention to. He wasn't going to use it at first, until he realized it was most likely for her <em>daughter</em>, Patsy. She was Diabetic; and if he recalled correctly, hypoglycemic attacks could cause fatigue, dizziness, and trembling among other things. The bench was most likely so she could sit if she started feeling light-headed. </p><p>After all, falling to the floor from a 2'0" seat was much safer than falling from her probably 5'0" height, which decreased the risk of breaking a bone or hitting her head if she did lose consciousness at some point. It didn't escape his attention that there was a water-proof medical monitor near the floor, probably the non-visual (he hoped) kind that alerted someone if a slip and fall accident did occur. </p><p>While he didn't know Patsy well yet, there was something comforting in realizing that, while their issues could not have been more different, he wasn't the only one in the house who could be considered disabled in some way. Back at St. Raphael's, his issues hadn't bothered him (well, not much anyways) because everyone there had problems of their own. He was admittedly intimidated at the thought of being in a house where he was the only odd kid out. </p><p>At the very least he could be assured that the Washingtons were willing to put in the effort to help their daughter in the areas she needed it.</p><p>Maybe... maybe they would be willing to do the same for him? Some day? If he formed relationships with them? It was a nice thought.</p><p>Probably too much to hope for, but he could dream.</p><p>Beyond reading, and adjusting to his new life, as soon as Alexander was assigned his first pile of work that he was meant to do over the winter break before starting school, but he was halfway through it after barely two days and decided to slow down.</p><p>Once he was given the Wi-Fi password by Jack, who was somehow the least intimidating among them with his nonchalant attitude, he caught up on a few episodes of <em>Buzzfeed Unsolved</em>, particularly enjoying the episodes about the JFK Assassination and the Roswell crash; he liked to learn about incidences of possible government cover-ups. If his head was hurting from reading too much still (his prescription glasses may have been out of date, he wasn't sure); the two hosts were ridiculous but he found their antics amusing combined with the seriousness of some of their topics.</p><p>After catching up on other YouTubers he liked, he would binge a few episodes of Mythbusters before reluctantly leaving the building to track down Martha. She had mentioned previously how much she worked as a nurse, so he had the distinct impression she'd taken some time off so he wouldn't feel lost on the gargantuan property they called home, which he secretly sort of appreciated.</p><p>Despite the man often being confined to his office for hours at a time, Alex wasn't sure he was ready to be left alone with George after only a couple of days.</p><p>He had to admit, part of him missed St. Raphael's. </p><p>It wasn't so much the routine which they had been fairly strict about, or that his new environment made him uneasy, but... well... it was lonely here. He'd never been anywhere in which he was the only kid for more hours of the day than not. Back on the island he would have killed to have a few moments peace, uninterrupted, to himself. Now he found himself wandering aimlessly, the emptiness of the hallways creeping him out a bit. </p><p>Once he'd identified this unwelcome feeling, Alex found himself hanging out with Mrs. Washington even more. </p><p>Helping her cook, or just watching as she flitted around the main part of the estate, making small talk. It was like her presence soothed the tendrils of isolation that were burrowing at his heart as it grew more cold and felt even more isolated in the manor.</p><p>Then one day, near the end of his first week, something changed. </p>
<hr/><p>Something different happened one afternoon when Lafayette brought a friend home with him.</p><p>"I was thinking we could do a batch of chocolate chip cookies after dinner, have a few and put the rest away for a snack tomorrow, what do you think?" </p><p>He looked up and smiled, "That sounds like a good idea." She was a fantastic baker, he had quickly learned. It was getting close to evening and Martha and he were sitting at the table in the kitchen, peeling potatoes and just chatting back and forth about nothing in particular.</p><p>Alexander looked up when he heard the door open and felt his breath leave him all at once. </p><p>Entering the kitchen with Lafayette was a slightly older teenager, and quite possibly <em>the most beautiful</em> person he'd ever laid eyes on.</p><p>Tall, richly tanned with light cinnamon-colored freckles sprinkled generously across his cheeks and nose which reminded him of a cluster of constellations in the star-speckled night sky. His hair was unusual; it was an almost dark golden blond color, but couldn't be considered brown by any means, which was strange because it was also much darker than even the lightest shades of brown - mousy brown and dirty blond in particular. If he had to pin it down, 'ashy dark blond' was his best description. </p><p>It reached to chin-length, in wavy, unbelievably soft-looking strands that curled neatly around his face at the ends.</p><p>But it was the boy's eyes that drew him in the most; they were the most intense shade of turquoise he'd ever caught in someone’s irises before; it was like those breathtaking photos of beaches in Taiwan, with crystal clear greens and blues for miles.</p><p>”Good afternoon boys, good day at school?” His stepmother (yep, still weird) called, and the blond boy nodded politely at her but didn’t speak; he was looking at Alex, head tilting.</p><p><em>Oh</em>. Alex felt butterflies in his chest.</p><p>"Ah! Bon après-midi, Martha et Alexandre!" The French teenager said happily, dropping his backpack on the mat near the door, and turning to Martha. "Is it okay if John and I watch movies upstairs in the lounge for a while? We'll be doing homework too, of course." He promised with a sly grin. </p><p>Martha rolled her eyes a little at her fifteen-year-old godson's blatant lies, "Of course; John knows he's always welcome here. I'll be putting dinner on soon, though, so don't fill up on too much junk, okay?" </p><p>In response, Lafayette placed his hands on his chest in a gesture of playful over-sincerity, "<em>Moi?</em> Never! Come, Laurens, let's go make sure that Jacky has not cluttered up our space too much since last weekend, oui?" He nudged his friend before bounding back out into the colonnade, and Alex might have been a bit stung by the lack of invitation to join them (or lack of introduction to his company in general) if he was not still utterly starstruck by his new brother's friend, who surprisingly didn't leave with the other immediately.</p><p>Rather, after greeting Martha he turned his attention to the other boy, apparently sizing him up. </p><p>"I'm John Laurens." The impossibly stunning boy introduced himself with a gorgeous crooked grin that nearly made him go weak at the knees. He thought he heard the faintest hint of a southern drawl... as if he wasn’t attractive enough already. "So you're Alex, right?"</p><p>"Ah... um, uh-huh." He said, or something equally intelligent.</p><p>When the blond stuck out his hand, Alex stared at it stupidly for several seconds before the boy raised an eyebrow, and he realized almost too late that the other was offering to shake his hand, causing him to grab clumsily at it with his own and attempt to speak, "You... ah... you're Gil-er, Lafayette's friend then?" </p><p>"Unfortunately." John grinned at him again and his heart skipped a beat. "I tried leaving him on the side of the road with a 'For Free' sign one time, but like a lost puppy he just followed me back home." he said and Alex laughed; didn't even feel bad about taking amusement in a joke at Lafayette's expense. "As you probably heard, Laf and I are going to have a movie marathon upstairs. Would you like to join us?" </p><p>Alex glanced at Martha, uncertainly, since he <em>had</em> offered to help her with dinner, he didn't want to be rude... </p><p>But she gave him an encouraging look, and he could only tell that's what it was, because he'd seen Jess give him that same look time and time again.</p><p>Well, one movie couldn't hurt, right?</p><p>"Um... yeah, sure. Sounds like fun."</p>
<hr/><p>Note to self: Watching movies with kids in his age group <em>was</em> fun.</p><p>Climbing two sets of stairs to get to <em>where</em> the movies were being watched?</p><p>Not so much.</p><p>By the time they made it to the third floor, his legs and lower back were on fire and he nearly stumbled and fell onto the nearest couch. </p><p>One of the apparently multiple rooms on this floor had been transformed into a lounge for the boys when they were younger apparently; there was a mounted TV, smaller than the one downstairs but still quite large, with several different game systems set up. He recognized the X-Box and the Wii but some of them were completely alien to him. A CD  player and mini fridge sat in one corner. A couch, a loveseat and several beanbag chairs were scattered about and old movie posters and comic book stickers on the walls. Overall it looked like the dream hangout spot for a young teenage boy. </p><p>"Alexander are you alright?" Lafayette came to his side when he saw the pained grimace on the redhead's face and heard his winded breathing. "What's wrong?" </p><p>He answered without responding, "It's my legs. They don't handle stairs so well, I’ll be fine in a minute.” He wheezed softly.</p><p>John looked at him over his shoulder as he fiddled with the TV, plugging it back into the wall, but didn't otherwise speak. </p><p>"Mon ami, I do not understand." He said, looking openly concerned but confused.</p><p>Alex didn't know what to say really, he didn't often have to explain what was wrong with him to anyone, let alone to another kid. He liked Lafayette but he wasn't sure he wanted to spill his whole life story to a guy he barely knew, let alone in front of some guy he didn't know <em>at all</em>, no matter how cute he was. "J'étais dans un accident il y a quelques années, d'accord?" he finally stated. His adoptive stepbrother's eyes widened, and he started to interrupt but the younger boy added, wringing his hands, "Depuis je souffre Traumatique d'Arthrose, et Désordre Discal Dégénératif de la Colonne Lombaire." Lafayette stared at him, his expression stunned, and he looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. Somehow, he had a feeling his invitation to join them was going to be revoked soon. "Parfois, je vais bien et d'autres fois, je suis essentiellement estropié, mas grimper ce de nombreux d'escaliers suce. Juste des à ton ami que je me suis tordu la cheville?"</p><p>"I can't do that," The other boy told him and held his hands up quickly when Alex gave him a hurt, apprehensive look. "Alex, I'm so sorry, but John is bilingual. He is fluent in French. I didn't know you were going to..." he gestured at Alex helplessly and dropped his arms.</p><p>His stomach sank. Oh. </p><p>"Trilingual, technically." John offered quietly as Alex's hands started to shake. "English, French and Spanish. I'm... sorry. You didn't want me to know any of that." It was a statement, not a question. He stared at the floor, not responding. "Alex, you don't... I'm not gonna judge you or anything for that. Sometimes things happen and life turns out a certain way. Patsy is Epileptic, and my own brother..." he finally looked up to see the blond brushing a strand of hair from his face with a sad smile. "He, uh, he's borderline paraplegic. It happened last year when he was ten after he climbed a tree and... and, well, the doctors are pretty sure he's not going to walk again, at least not on his own. So, like, I may not <em>get it</em> but I..." </p><p>"No, stop... you don’t have to...” Alex finally managed a deep breath, tapping his foot anxiously. “Look, it's fine. I just..." It was all too much to digest at once; the kind acceptance in John's eyes and genuine concern in Lafayette's, hearing about this stranger's brother and feeling extremely vulnerable all of a sudden. "I knew people were going to know eventually, I was just hoping it wouldn't be this soon. Um, I'm not mad... c-could we maybe just move on for now and start a movie?" he asked, hating how <em>small</em> his voice sounded. </p><p>Lafayette nodded immediately, bouncing back onto the balls of his feet, "Of course we can! What would you like to see?" </p><p>"I don't know... anything is fine." </p><p>Eventually, the French boy managed to convince John to agree to watching <em>yet another</em> Disney film (the emphasis was the blond's; Alex could only assume Lafayette was a big fan of Disney). He wanted to watch The Little Mermaid, but the younger boy had quickly vetoed that one, somewhat meekly. It had too many storms and just too much <em>ocean</em> in general for him  to be completely comfortable with. Thankfully, they didn't question it. In the end they settled for Zootopia, which Alex actually hadn't seen yet. </p><p>He could tell in the first five minutes it would be pretty good, although it lacked subtlety at times when exploring themes of racial prejudice and stereotypes, but considering it was marketed for children that wasn't a shock; over all he still thought it was very well done.</p><p>The soundtrack really struck a chord with him though, especially the theme song, or what he supposed was the theme song. </p><p>
  <em>Birds don't just fly,<br/>
They fall down and get up</em><br/>
<em>Nobody learns without getting it wrong~</em>
</p><p>He especially approved of how neither side was shown as being strictly 'evil'; the prey animals (obviously symbolizing minorities) had clear reasons for being wary of predator animals (who were probably meant to be those in the majority), but it wasn't depicted as being right; Judy still eventually realized her preconceived ideas about foxes were unfair, just because a fox had hurt her in the past didn't mean she should take it out on <em>all foxes</em> for the rest of her life; and that was true, wasn't it? Just because one group of people historically did harmful things to another didn't mean that everyone in the hurt group was entitled to be hateful, violent and suspicious towards the other side.</p><p><em>Just because other people have left you doesn't mean you should assume the Washingtons will too</em>, a little voice nagged at the back of his head.</p><p>He told it to shut up.</p><p>In the end even the antagonist had a reason for being the way she was, due to the abuses she'd suffered, but that didn't make the things she had done justified, though it did explain them. But an explanation and a defense of an act was not the same thing, was it? Take a person on trial for murder, for example. Perhaps that person was an... alcoholic, or had some sort of psychotic episode, which could <em>explain</em> their actions, but it did not them excusable, they were still responsible for the crime they committed. He was still young enough he could definitely see kids getting the message while still appreciating the fact that it wasn't overly-saturated with ham-fisted messages.</p><p>"Jesus, it's like everybody who was ever a furry went to go work at Disney!" John laughed at the sight of Gazelle in her skimpy outfit surrounded by buff, topless male tigers. It was probably the most musical sound Alex had ever heard. "What the hell even is this?" </p><p>"Have you never seen a Disney movie before, mon ami? In the 1980s they had a mouse character perform a <em>strip tease</em>." </p><p>The look of horrified outrage on John's face sent both of them into fits of laughter.</p>
<hr/><p>By the time the movie had finished, he heard Martha calling them for dinner, and winced as he stood up, hearing his bones crack gently. </p><p>They started down and he was right behind them, when his foot slipped on one of the stairs and he nearly fell, but a hand grabbed him by the elbow and an arm curled around his waist, steadying him, and he looked up to see John gazing back down at him, concerned, "You okay?"</p><p>"I'm... fine. Just a little off-balance. Standing too long, sitting too long... it's all bad for me," he laughed it off. </p><p>Soon enough they reached the second floor, barely halfway to the dining room, great.</p><p>It had not escaped his notice that John hadn't released him yet, "Um, you guys can go on ahead, okay?" </p><p>Lafayette frowned at him, "Are you sure?"</p><p>"Yeah... I'll be down in a minute, I just need to go to my room for a sec, promise." </p><p>The other two boys glanced uncertainly at each other before eventually heading down, leaving him standing on the stairs alone. </p><p>Alexander, somewhat reluctantly, dragged himself to his room and pulled the suitcase out from under his bed, grimacing as he had to bend over to do so, retrieving his cane from it. He didn't want to use it, but as he'd realized earlier, they were going to find out eventually. Martha could probably already tell he was supposed to be using one - he'd caught her eyeing him a few times whenever he couldn't quite conceal the limp in his walk a few times. </p><p>Taking a moment to sit on the edge of his bed and wait for the pain in his lower back and his knee to fade somewhat, he adjusted the device so it was a bit taller; the estate had mostly polished wooden floors with the exception of the stairs, and without the carpeting there was less thickness to the floor, so he made it a bit longer to accommodate for his height. Once it was ready, he stripped out of his jeans and dug around a bit longer for his braces and sighed as he started to put them on. Eventually he knew he couldn't stall any longer, so he threw on a pair of sweats and began to make his way down the stairs again with apprehension.</p><p>”Okay, Alex. You can do this...”</p>
<hr/><p>The tension in the house that week was so thick in the air you could practically cut it with a knife.</p><p>It had been this way since George and Martha has sat the others down and explained to them that they would be getting a new family member soon. Lafayette hadn’t even blinked, just asked what their name was.</p><p>He was well aware of his godparents’ kind and charitable nature, taking in a foster child would hardly be out of character for them...</p><p>Until Martha had gently corrected that, no, the boy wasn’t going to be a foster child coming to live with them, per se. Explaining that George had a biological son was... uncomfortable. Jacky had been especially furious, until finding out the boy was only 14—and thus had been born before he and Martha had ever gotten together, let alone married. That had calmed him down; the boy was protective of his mother.</p><p>All if them had wanted more details, who was this kid? Where did he come from? Who was his mother and what happened to her? Was he nice? Why was George only finding out now?</p><p>Only some of those questions they’d been able to answer.</p><p>At first, George had been apprehensive but also sort of... excited? He loved all of his children deeply... Sarah, Jacky, Patsy, Lafayette... truly his life was richer just by having met them.</p><p>At this point in his life he had not anticipated having a child of his own, once upon a time perhaps, but after twelve years with Martha and them both now being in their forties, it seemed clear it wasn’t meant to be. They could have tried fertility treatments, but did not. His life was not somehow empty because the children he’d raised (and was currently raising) weren’t his own; he loved them dearly all the same.</p><p>But it would be a lie to say he hadn’t been looking forward to meeting Alexander.</p><p>Which was why their awkward first interaction and lack of real communication since then had been so disappointing. It wasn’t just the elephant in the room - that being Alex’s status as a Washington - that made things uncomfortable, but the fact that the boy seemed to withdraw around him. He had latched on to Martha almost instantly, and whenever he wasn’t reading or tucked away in his room, he was with her.</p><p>George never wanted to be jealous of his wife. </p><p>But this was his <em>boy</em>, and they’d barely spoken more than two sentences to each other after that first night.</p><p>He knew it wasn’t Martha’s fault, she’d always been the more social one, drawing people in like moths to a flame. He just wished this new teenager, who he desperately wanted to get to know, had come with an instruction manual, but alas they never did. Perhaps over dinner was a good way to ease the tension? It certainly had to be easier than trying to talk one-on-one, since at least they wouldn’t be alone. Maybe if he could learn more about Alex tonight, it would become easier to get to know his newly found son, or at least stop him from looking so petrified whenever George addressed him.</p><p>As they all began to sit down, Martha tilted her head, "Gilbert, John, where's Alex?" </p><p>"Oh. He said he needed to grab something in his room and then he'd be right down." John volunteered the information, as the other boy was already digging in to Martha's buttery whipped potatoes and roast beef. </p><p>Sure enough, a few minutes later he heard the telltale creaking of the stairs just outside the dining room, but something seemed... off. The man's highly trained ears could pick up on a dull thumping sound on the carpeted staircase preceding every other step. </p><p>Patsy, who was facing the direction of the doorway, paused first, a surprised expression flitting across her features, before they smoothed out into a polite expression. Lafayette and John were both pointedly not looking at Alex while Jacky frowned at him openly, and Martha had a warm look; she too, seemed slightly taken off guard though, he could tell from her body language. </p><p>Another tapping sound.</p><p>Finally, George turned his head slightly as Alex approached the only empty chair at the table, and he inhaled quietly, but sharply. </p><p>His fourteen-year-old son had a mobility cane under his right hand.</p><p>It was a long, sleek black and silver quad-point one, collapsible by the look of it, with a gel handle grip. Not only that, but because they didn't wear shoes in the house, he could see the boy had a brace on his right ankle, and possibly his knee too if the fact he was wearing loose-fitting sweatpants and not jeans like he'd been earlier was any indication. </p><p>Alex wasn't looking at any of them, he had his gaze lowered to the floor in an unusually demure fashion, his cheeks tinged pink. </p><p>Embarrassed.</p><p>Was this why none of them had witnessed him with the assistive devices he clearly required until now? Because he hadn't wanted to be seen using them? That didn't sit right with the veteran; what else didn't he know about Alexander because he hadn't bothered to tell them? Did he have any other needs he was neglecting? Medication? More supportive furniture? </p><p><em>I should have asked him, I knew he was disabled. I didn't even finish reading that damn file.</em> He thought to himself, pressing his lips together in a tight line. <em>I should be making him feel welcome here, not walking on eggshells around him! I was absent from his life for too long already, this can't continue</em>. </p><p>"Alexander?"</p><p>The boy jerked his head up in response, his eyes wide and fearful. </p><p>Why? Did he really think they were going to judge him for this condition that was beyond his control?</p><p>"Y-Yes, Sir?" </p><p>Martha looked at him, and he could see his concern reflected back in the depths of her eyes. If the other children noticed Alex's stutter, they didn't acknowledge it. "Please, sit down. You don't want your dinner getting cold, do you?" He tried to keep his tone neutral, perhaps softer than it normally would be. It worked, the teenager's shoulders seemed to sag with relief, and he nodded and quickly shuffled to the free seat between Patsy and John. </p><p>There was a moment of awkward quietness as Alex got situated in his seat, but Jacky, apparently noticing the tension, spoke up and distracted from it, "Laurens," the teen in question glanced up. "You want to stay over tonight? We could play some CoD after dinner; I bet I'll kick yours, Alex’s and Laf's butt." He grinned. </p><p>It did not escape George’s attention that Jacky made a conscious effort to include Alex, and if the surprised glance the boy threw in his stepson’s direction was any indication, he had picked up on it as well.</p><p>The small smile spoke of his appreciation in depth.</p><p>John chuckled and shook his head, "That sounds like fun, Jack. But I can't... My dad has to go into work tonight and he won't be back until morning, someone needs to watch James and the others and get them ready for school." </p><p>His words brought the frown back to George's face again.</p><p>The oldest of Henry Laurens' children had just turned sixteen years old last month, he shouldn't have been handed the responsibility of looking after four younger siblings, one of whom was disabled and the youngest, Ella, who was less than a year old. He knew it hadn't been easy since his wife Eleanor had died shortly after her birth, and that they'd struggled to find a long term caregiver for the five of them, but having the weight of all of siblings on his shoulders wasn't good for a young boy. He needed time to be a child; the man couldn't even remember the last time he'd been over, when two years ago he was here nearly daily. </p><p>"Ah, that sucks. Maybe next time." </p><p>John inclined his head in agreement, but his eyes were devoid of optimism. </p><p>"How are the potatoes, Alex?" His wife asked, changing the subject. </p><p>The boy gave a small smile, "They're good, ma—uh, Martha." He ducked his head and grinned, "Sorry, force of habit. The sisters at uh, St. Raphael's, were big on manners." </p><p>Patsy glanced at him, "You're Catholic?"</p><p>"No, no. I'm... well, not really anything at the moment. Officially my mom was Anglican." He told her, and George looked up from his meal, because he'd only heard the boy mention his mother all of once since he'd gotten here, and that was only to clarify to Lafayette how he was able to speak French. "Her parents raised her that way, but privately she didn't really subscribe to any one belief system that I know of, or label herself anything specifically. I know she believed in a God, but I was too young to really ask her much about which one or why. She prayed one way, celebrated all sorts of different holidays, I guess she was religiously syncretic. It didn't matter if the belief was Pagan, Christian, Jewish or whatever, if she thought it had merit she adopted it into her own every day life with the same respect and joy as someone who'd been practicing it their whole life." he explained, “She was a 'live and let live' person."</p><p>That was certainly one way to describe Rachel Faucette.</p><p>George had always called her his little <em>witch</em>, in a purely affectionate way. He'd never seen anyone more in tune with people, animals, or nature in general. She was the living embodiment of a free spirit. Always learning, exploring, creating. It was one of the reasons he'd fallen in love with her. She was unabashedly herself, no matter what anyone had to say about it, and he'd admired her fearless approach to others opinions; <em>like water off of a duck's back, my love</em>, she used to say.</p><p>Looking at Alexander, he had a feeling the boy was much like her, and not just in appearance; the small glimpses he'd seen of the boy's mind showed a wealth of knowledge. </p><p>He wanted to learn more about him. </p><p>Yes, a week was long enough, it was time he put in an active effort to connect with his son.</p>
<hr/><p>"Are you sure you can't stay for at least another movie?" </p><p>John smiled and ruffled Lafayette's hair, causing the French boy to pout and lean away, attempting to fix it. "As much as I'd love to, it's getting late and I promised Dad I'd be home before he left so Marcy isn't stuck watching Ella, Harry and James too long by herself. But as soon as I can we'll have to do this again - this guy," he jerked his thumb at Alex, "Is woefully lacking in modern movie references. I think we ought to educate him more." </p><p>"Rude," Alex sniffled, but couldn't help the grin threatening to cross his lips. </p><p>"Yeah, that's me. Better get used to it. Hey, do you have a cell phone?" The blond asked, causing the younger teen to blink in confusion, before nodding. "Awesome, have Laf give you my phone number so we can text and stuff. I just moved here a couple years ago from London, and before that South Carolina, so I know how it can be trying to get used to it. If you ever get bored or whatever I can tell you what places don't suck. We'll all be attending the same high school together anyways so maybe we can make a group chat or something."</p><p>The boy found himself openly smiling now; it looked like his awkward introduction and making an idiot of himself in front of the older teenager didn't completely rule them out as being friends, then! "Sure, that sounds cool."</p><p>"Awesome. It was nice meeting you, Alex. Catch you later, <em>Gilbert</em>." John teased his friend and ducked when Lafayette swatted at him, laughing as he headed out the door. </p><p>"Connard." Lafayette muttered and the other boy giggled. "You're awfully <em>sourirey </em>tonight, my dear Hamilton. It wouldn't have anything to do with John Laurens having dinner with us, would it?"</p><p>"What, I can't just be in a good mood?" Alex defended himself, feeling his face beginning to heat up as the Frenchman rose an eyebrow at him.</p><p>"...Shut up." </p><p>Lafayette was the one laughing now even as Alex started cursing him under his breath in a variety of languages. Having a brother again was probably going to get annoying fast, but he didn't <em>completely</em> dislike it, either.</p><p>If he managed to hold onto the friends he was beginning to make, maybe this wouldn't end up being so bad after all.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>French-English Dialogue: </p><p>“Bon après-midi, Martha et Alexandre!” = “Good afternoon, Martha and Alexander!”<br/>“Moi?” = “Me?”<br/>“Oui?” = “Yes?”<br/>"Mon ami," = "My friend,"<br/>"J'étais dans un accident il y a quelques années, d'accord?" - "I was in an accident a couple years ago, okay?"<br/>"Depuis je souffre Traumatique d'Arthrose, et Désordre Discal Dégénératif de la Colonne Lombaire." = "Since then I have suffered from Traumatic Osteoarthritis, and Degenerative Disc Disorder of the Lumbar Spine."<br/>"Parfois, je vais bien et d'autres fois, je suis essentiellement estropié, mas grimper ce de nombreux putain d'escaliers suce. Juste des à ton ami que je me suis tordu la cheville?" = "Sometimes I'm fine and other times I'm basically crippled, but climbing up that many fucking stairs sucks. Just tell your friend I sprained my ankle?"<br/>"Connard." - "Asshole."<br/>"Sourirey," - "Smiley,"</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I know, I know, I have enough Washingdad stories already out there, but I couldn't help it! I've been wanting to do a modern AU for a while now. Plus, I couldn't resist the idea of teenage Alex joining the Washington family. Please be sure to let me know what you think, I'm very excited about this, I've had it saved in my drafts for over a week debating on whether or not to post it!</p><p>Just a heads up, real life politics irritate the crap out of me so I'm not going to be referencing political figures that currently exist in modern time (so if you want a fic where Alex talks about Clinton, Obama, Bernie, Trump, etc, this isn't the one for you! I'm gonna be using a fake president and having some fake history in order for this story to make sense considering I'm writing with fictional versions of people that helped create the U.S., so not altering things a little would make it all very complicated. For this reason, Ham is obviously not on money, Washington, D.C. is not named after GW, etc. A lot of it will be brushed off as the legacy of certain characters' ancestors for simplicity's sake).</p></blockquote></div></div>
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